


It's a cruel world, but it's cool.

by Mercurians



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: AU where Seven is just some weirdo and not an intellegence agent, I promise it won't all be angst, M/M, Maybe good sex eventually, Other angst, Referenced past character death, Slow Burn, Yoosung's POV, first person POV, gay angst, really awkward sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercurians/pseuds/Mercurians
Summary: No one will believe that Yoosung's best friend is a wanted hacker who lives in a basement, builds robots, owns four sports cars, and has a ridiculous name like "Seven." Maybe it's best if they don't believe. Actually, maybe it's best if Yoosung and Seven keep this relationship entirely between themselves.





	1. disappeared

**Author's Note:**

> I will state in advance that I'm not sure how long this fic will be, and I'm not entirely sure where the plot will go. The tags may change as I get a better sense for the nature of the story I'm telling. But I love these boys and this premise, and I hope you'll trust me to do right by them both.
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the song Cool by Tigers Jaw! It's good.

It was a pretty common exchange. Lounging in the lecture hall, my friends had asked me if I wanted to hang out after class, maybe get some food before we head back to the library to study. I told them no, sorry, I already made plans to go to Seven’s place. They all groaned and rolled their eyes.

“If you don’t want to hang out, you can just say so.”

“Oh my god,” I said, pulling on my backpack. “ _Please_ , guys. I’m not avoiding you.”

“Maybe you’re not avoiding us,” Yejun said, “but we know you’re hiding something. Or fucking with us.”

Minkyu tilted his head. “Is ‘Seven’s place’ a cover up for something? Are you buying drugs?”

All three of them laughed.

“I’m not- okay, first of all. Do I look like the kind of person who buys drugs.”

“Well, maybe the kind-”

“ _Secondly_ ,” I cut in, “Seven is real! I already showed you his picture. I’m not making him up.”

“A picture doesn’t prove anything,” Minkyu said. “It certainly doesn’t prove that you’re best friends with some genius computer hacker.”

“It also doesn’t prove any of the stories you’ve told us,” Jihoon added. “Like, oh yeah, you just happen to be friends with a dude who infiltrated a government office by dressing up as a female secretary.”

Yejun threw up his hands. “Hey guys, remember that time when Seven won the lottery and spent all of his earnings on four limited edition sports cars? Even though he lives in a basement apparently?”

“But Yejun, remember?” Minkyu said. “He lives in a basement because his last place caught on fire-”

They finished the sentence in unison: “after he put a flamethrower in his robot cat!”

I opened my mouth, ready to fight back. But they were completely losing it, slamming their palms on their desks as they laughed. I gripped the straps of my backpack and turned away from them, walking toward the door.

“Yoosung, wait! Are you mad?” Yejun could barely get the words out between giggles.

I half-turned toward them, giving the sharpest glare I could manage. “You don’t have to believe me when I tell you things,” I said, keeping my voice low and even, “but in return, I don’t have to be nice to you, either. I’m going now.”

I turned back toward the door, and immediately, they erupted into laughter. “So cute! He got so mad.” I felt my face turning red. Exhaling slowly, I left the lecture hall, trying to redirect my thoughts toward the evening ahead of me.

 

* * *

 

 It must’ve taken all of three seconds for Seven to answer the door after my knock. He threw it open, already beaming. Suddenly, any residual anger I was still carrying washed away. I smiled back at him. “I’m here!”

“I can see that,” he said. “And... what’s this? You brought me something?”

I lifted up the covered ceramic dish in my hands, pushing toward him a bit so he’d move out of the doorway. “I was cooking pasta last night, and it was so much fun, I thought I’d make some for you, too.” Once inside the basement apartment, which was barely larger than a studio, I headed toward his kitchen. “It’s been refrigerating all night, so I’m sorry that it’s not fresh and warm or anything. But it’s got tomatoes in it, and some onions, and other veggies, too.” I open his refrigerator door with my elbow, finding spot on the nearly-empty shelves to place my dish. “You need to get more vitamins, okay? Anyway, keep the dish for as long as you need. I have another one like it.”

When I closed the refrigerator door, I noticed he was leaning against the doorway, staring at me with a smile.

“What?”

He got animated, throwing his hands up like an impassioned actor. “You brought me food! You’re worrying about me! It’s so cute. I love it when you visit.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide the sincere happiness I felt. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“To me it is,” he said, giving me a coy grin. “Almost as good as having a girlfriend.”

“D-don’t say things like that!” I tried to hide my nervous smile, but I’m sure he noticed it. “I got enough teasing today without you adding to it.”

I joined him as we headed toward his bedroom, where we usually hung out. It was tiny but welcoming, walls covered with car posters and stolen street signs and glow-in-the-dark stars. His twin-sized bed sat directly on the floor, no bed frame. “Hmm? Who was teasing my Yoosung? I’ll give them hell for you.”

Once inside, I flopped down face-first onto his freshly-made bed, while he took a seat in the swivel chair at his desk, just a few feet away. I sighed heavily into his bedspread, which smelled vaguely like fabric softener. He never mentioned it, but I knew he always cleaned his room in preparation for my visits. The fresh scent of Febreze covering dirty laundry and stale chips gave him away. After a long period of silence, I rested my cheek against the blankets to look at him. “Just my friends,” I said. “They still don’t think you’re real.”

He chuckled. “Okay, yeah. That actually makes sense.”

“I don’t know why it bothers me so much,” I admitted. “I understand where they’re coming from, and it’s not like they’re probably ever going to meet you, anyway. I shouldn’t care whether or not they think you exist. Right?”

Seven was staring at his computer, typing green characters onto a black coding screen, seemingly uninhibited in his multitasking. “Maybe it just hurts that your friends don’t trust you on something.”

“Maybe,” I said, watching my hand as I tugged at his bedspread, rubbing the soft fabric between my fingers. It was a deep maroon color, a couple shades darker than his hair. “Whatever. I’m going to study.”

I always had secret ulterior motives for hanging out at Seven’s place after school. Studying in the library was fine, but the forced silence always made me feel a little nervous. I would inevitably do something stupid, like forget to turn off my phone ringer or drop one of my heavy textbooks, and instantly feel the shame of a dozen annoyed glares. Studying at home was a total bust. I’d reward myself with LOLOL for every tiny milestone and wind up with absolutely nothing accomplished.

But studying with Seven was perfect. Something about his presence just put me in exactly the right mindset. I think part of it was the gentle sound of his typing, that nearly unpausing staccato rhythm of fingers on keys. As he worked, he’d mutter technical jargon to himself. It wasn’t loud enough to disrupt me, and the sound of his voice was surprisingly relaxing.

I think working here made me feel guilty for slacking off, too. Even in the library, surrounded by cold and serious students, people would be checking their phone every few minutes, or gazing out the windows, or writing notes to their neighbor. As a college student, it felt natural for me to procrastinate at every tiny roadblock. Not Seven, though. He worked with total concentration, stopping only to inhale sharply and contemplate a difficult line of code before setting immediately back to work.

And I knew that this was the nature of his life. He needed to be constantly working, constantly covering his tracks, keeping his clients happy and his own defenses secured. If he could work through all of this pressure, this potentially life-and-death anxiety, I could study for my Biology exam. And so I did.

After a couple hours, Seven rose silently from his desk and left the room. I assumed that he was going to the bathroom, and used the opportunity to check my phone until he got back. My mom had texted me, asking how I was doing. I’d respond once I was home. In a couple minutes, Seven returned with two plates in his hands.

“Dinner time.” He placed one plate on his desk, then used his free hand to shut my textbook, putting the other plate on top of it.

I frowned. “Seven, I brought this pasta for _you_ to eat. I don’t want to waste one of your healthy meals.”

Back at his desk, he took a bite from his plate and answered with his mouth full. “Tough. It’s seven PM, and you gotta eat, too.” He swallowed, then flashed me that typical coy grin. “If you’re so worried about my eating habits, you’ll just have to cook for me more.”

I poked at the noodles with my fork. “Maybe I will, then.”

His tone suddenly changed. “I was kidding,” he said. “My diet's fine, so don’t worry about it. Just eat your pasta.”

While we had dinner, I caught him up on what I’d been doing since I last came over, a few days prior. Talking about school with him was odd. I always felt like I should be embarrassed for taking up his time with something so trivial. But he listened intently, asking questions or cracking jokes or threatening to break into the email accounts of professors I didn’t like. He always remembered the names of people I mentioned, too. It gave me so much confidence, knowing that he cared enough to remember.

“Enough about my life,” I said. “What have you been up to? Any cool new jobs?”

He shrugged, a fork full of food sticking out of his mouth. He removed the utensil, then slowly chewed and swallowed before answering my question. “Nothing I can really share,” he said. “And nothing I really want to.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” My plate had been empty for a few minutes, and I finally set it on the nightstand.

“It’s all garbage, Yoosung.” He was spinning his fork around on his plate, playing with the noodles absentmindedly. “My line of work is shit. I hang out with you to forget about all that.”

“Oh.” It was all I could think of to say.

He put his plate down on his desk and stood up to approach the bed. I moved inward so he could take a seat at the edge of the mattress. Groaning, he flopped down on his back, head on the pillow. He covered his eyes with the palms of his hands, which pushed his glasses back on his head.

“Are you okay, Seven?”

“Yeah. Just a headache.”

I lied down on my side, my head parallel to his. “Anything I can do to help?”

He uncovered his face and turned slightly to look at me. I could already recognize the expression in those golden eyes before he spoke. “Yes.”

Seven moved quickly, wrapping one hand around the back of my head before leaning in to press his mouth against mine. He kissed me eagerly, sighing warm breath onto my skin. Hesitantly, I reciprocated. We fell into our routine of messy kissing, sucking and biting at lips, eyes squeezed shut. When his tongue met my lower lip, I was finally jolted enough to push him away.

“Seven,” I said, pausing to catch my breath. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“Then why did you lie down?” He stared at me hard and serious, no games. When I didn’t respond after a few moments, he tried to lean back in, and I shoved him back a bit harder.

“Seven, no. We can’t.”

He stayed close to me, but I knew that he wouldn’t try to kiss me again. “Why not?” he said. “Who’s it hurting?” I opened my mouth, and he cut in before I could respond. “And please don’t say your future girlfriend, Yoosung. It’s not hurting her, either.”

“It is!” I said. “How am I supposed to explain.... How am I supposed to face her, whoever she is, knowing that I’ve already k-kissed....” My voice trailed off. I knew how stupid it sounded. How ridiculous and cliche. But it didn’t stop me from feeling ashamed.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Seven said. “No one does. You, too. You can forget it ever happened.”

“See, that’s the thing!” I pushed myself into a seated position, keeping my eyes trained on him. “You always talk like that, like nothing we do together counts. Like you’ll just disappear from existence one day. I hate it! I hate it when you say those things.” I looked at my hands, then balled them into fists. “And you know what? Maybe that’s why I got so upset earlier. My friends won’t even acknowledge that you’re real. _You_ act like you’re not really part of my life. Maybe I’m starting to believe it.”

I felt tears building up in my eyes. I fixed my gaze on my fists, trying not to blink, trying not to move my eyes for fear that the tears would spill, and then I’d be crying, and then this would be a different sort of conversation.

Seven sat up across from me. He put a hand on my neck, urged me to look up at him. I did. His expression was hard to make out through the blur of my tears, but he seemed calm.

“You’re my best friend, Seven.” I sniffled through my nose. “Stop acting like you don’t matter to me.”

He scooted in closer so that his eye level was above mine, and I couldn’t look at him anymore. “It’s better this way,” he said. “We can have everything we want.”

“That’s not true,” I said, my voice weak.

“It’s true. We can be best friends. We can spend time together. We can do all of the fun things we want. And then you can get out and act like it never happened, before I have to disappear, anyway.”

The tears were falling now, but I stayed calm. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You will either way,” he said. “That’s the nature of my work. This way, we’ll make the most of our time together.”

He moved even closer now, resting his chin on top of my head. I pressed my face against his shirt, letting the fabric soak up my fallen tears. I wasn’t really crying. I was just tired.

He ran a hand through my hair. “When you step down those stairs, and through that door into this apartment, you’re in a different world. I’ll be your best friend, and you can be whatever you want. We can do whatever we want. And when you step outside again, you can know that you’re still safe. You’re not ruined. If you didn’t want it to happen, it never did.”

I pressed my forehead against his chest, saying nothing.

“You can break this off if you want. Or we can indulge in it a little longer.” He finally pulled back, bending over so that I could look at him again. His eyes were bloodshot, but they always looked that way. “What do you want to do?”

I didn’t really have to think about it. I was tired of fighting. I kissed him.

 

* * *

 

I left his house at eight. He stood at the doorway, back in his mode of grinning and joking as though nothing had ever happened. I tried my best to return the gesture, smiling back at him and excitedly talking about playing games together the next time we hung out.

“Thanks again for the food,” he said, helping me put on my backpack.

“Of course! Don’t eat it all while drinking soda, okay? Drink healthy things, too.”

He chuckled. “It’s so cute how you worry. I’ll drink some water for you next time.”

“Good.” Standing just outside the doorway, I stared at him for a moment. A million thoughts ran through my mind, and no words to articulate any of them. I watched his smile falter a bit as he caught the serious expression on my face.

But then it returned in full force. “Get home safe. See you next week.”

“Bye, Seven.”

“Bye, Yoosung.”

He closed the door, and I pretended that the thoughts were gone. I climbed up the stairs, believing that they disappeared behind me each time I lifted my feet. I got onto the sidewalk, and then I walked away from this apartment-sized hole in the world. This imaginary place I’d disappeared into for an evening. I left it behind and went home, ignoring the feeling of someone else’s dried saliva still on my lips.


	2. firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated some tags on the fic, as I figure out what's actually going to happen in this story! Getting real excited for it. I think it's gonna be good.

I first met Seven through LOLOL.

It was early in my freshman year of college, and I’d only been playing for a few months, but I was already pretty addicted. One night my party wound up in this difficult area, and a really strong player gave us a bus ride. We didn’t realize it at first, but he turned out to be ranked #1 on the server. We were really shocked. Later on he told me that he didn’t usually give people rides, but when he saw my low-level party wander into the Forbidden Desert, he followed behind to watch us, quote, “get completely wrecked.” But then he heard us chatting, and I guess we seemed nice, so he offered to help us out.

We just kept talking after that. I’ll admit I was a little starstruck, that someone with such a high level would want to play with me. I guess he liked me. I liked playing with him, too. Sometimes he would tease me, by telling lies that got me into dangerous situations in-game. But he’d always save me before my HP hit zero. I used to get so mad! I’d totally yell at him over it.

But... we had fun. I remember liking the sound of his voice. He always talked so enthusiastically, like he was trying to entertain me, and he really did brighten my mood.

We realized pretty early on that we lived in the same city, but it took me weeks to convince him to meet up with me. He always gave these lame excuses.

“I’m actually a hideous monster in real life. If I meet someone like you in person, I’ll probably devour you.”

“I can’t go this weekend, it’s my mother’s funeral. No, last weekend was my _other_ mother’s funeral.”

“It’s impossible for me to meet up with you. If I leave my apartment, I’ll burst into flames.”

Well, that last one might as well have been true. He always really hated to leave his apartment.

Anyway, I eventually managed to convince him, although the way it happened was pretty embarrassing. One night, in between raids, he noticed that I seemed kind of sad, and asked what was up. I sort of broke down and told him everything. About how poorly school was going. About how I’d lost my cousin so recently. About how I was lonely, and living in a new city, and I’d yet to make any close friends.

“You’re the best friend I have, Seven.” I remember I told him that, and he got quiet. Later on, he asked if I wanted to hang out at the mall that weekend. I was so happy I almost cried.

I was sitting in the food court that Saturday, waiting for him to arrive. He’d shown me a couple of photos of himself over the past few weeks, so I thought I knew what to look for. To be honest, I was expecting him to show up in drag or in some ridiculous costume or something. I already knew that Seven was the kind of person who never took things seriously when he didn’t have to. He took that impulse to ridiculous extremes.

Pretty soon, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and read the text notification.

“Here.”

I stood up from my table, scanning all around the room for him. As soon as I stopped looking for a silly costume, and instead searched for his bright red hair, I spotted him. He was standing in front of a column at the entrance, one hand shoved in the pocket of a puffy gray coat, the other thumbing the screen of his phone.

He seemed surprisingly normal.

“Seven! Over here!” I ran over to him, waving an arm in the air.

He looked up from his phone and smiled. “Well, well. We meet at last, Superman Yoosung.”

Cringing a little at the sound of the screen name said out loud, I grimaced. “Ahah.... You can just call me by my first name. We’re IRL friends now, right?”

Even as he made eye contact with me, he kept flicking the screen of his smartphone with his right thumb. “Hmm? You mean to tell me that Superman wasn’t your real name all along? I feel deceived.”

I laughed. “C’mon, Seven, put your phone away so I can give you a hug.”

“Oh.” He looked at his phone as though he was unaware that he was still holding it. Turning off the screen, he put it in his pocket and then held out his arms slightly.

I nearly tackled him in my embrace, pressing my face into the soft fabric of his jacket. Instead of putting his arms around me, he put one hand on my shoulder and used the other one to rustle my hair.

“Good to finally meet you, Yoosung.”

After a few seconds, I pulled away and started flattening my mussed up hair. “It’s so good to meet you, too! Thanks for finally agreeing to hang out with me.”

“No big deal.”

“Do you live nearby?” I asked. “Did you take the bus?”

He grinned, pointing his thumb out the glass doors of the mall. “God Seven has no use for public transit! God Seven has his own chariots.”

I looked in the direction he was pointing, and sure enough, there it was, in the front of the parking lot. One of the expensive sports cars he’d shared so many pictures of. I’d always assumed he was making those up, but now I could see that they were real.

He was always really good at tricking me, but before long, I learned to tell when Seven was definitely telling the truth about something. Usually, if he was telling me about himself, it was truth. I learned to accept that his life was inexplicable. Completely absurd. Like the universe bent its will around this strange guy with the striped glasses.

There was something else I learned about him, too, as we circled around the mall that day. Seven was anxious. Actually, I think the right word might have been _paranoid_. Sure, he was really entertaining and friendly. As we went through all the stores, we did fun things, like taking selfies in silly hats. He tried on weird dresses. He even bought me a new fan at the computer hardware store, just because I mentioned that I wanted one. But he also kept taking out his phone and thumbing through it, like a nervous habit. And every time we entered a new store, I’d watch him scan the ceilings before walking all the way inside. Eventually I realized he was finding the security cameras. I never figured out why.

Come to think of it, that was one of the only times I ever saw him outside of his apartment. I could tell it made him nervous, so as soon as he agreed to let me visit his place, that became our regular meeting spot. It became easy, after that, to forget the way he acted around other people. It became easy not to question what made Seven so different.

 

 

The first time I visited his house, we played Smash on his giant TV. The lights all off, we sat on his nice leather couch, a bowl of chips and two liters of soda between us, laughing and joking and throwing threats at one another. I mained Link. I made fun of him for maining Jigglypuff. He paid me back by kicking my ass in every round.

After our twelfth or so match, I let out an anguished groan. He’d won again, this time facing not only me but two computer-controlled characters on the highest AI level. “I can’t! You’re too good! Is there anything we can play that you’re not a total genius at?”

Seven grinned. “If there is, I haven’t found it yet.” He paused, dropping his smile. “Actually, I’m pretty shit at rhythm games. But I don’t own any of those.”

I hummed in annoyance, and almost immediately heard a mechanical whirring sound from the end table beside me.

“ _I sense depression meow! Booting up now meow!_ ”

The weird plastic cat that I’d assumed was a tacky statue was suddenly moving, standing on its legs and releasing a high-pitched, robotic voice. My jaw dropped as I watched it twist its head back and forth on its neck joint, as though it was observing me.

“Seven,” I said. “Seven, are you kidding me with this?! What is it?”

“Oh,” he said. “Just one of my pets. I built it myself. Pretty cool, huh? Are you impressed?”

The cat’s eyes flashed as it spoke. “ _I don’t recognize you meow. What is your name meow?_ ”

“Y... Yoosung?” I dropped my voice, feeling intensely embarrassed that I was suddenly talking to a robotic cat. Its eyes flashed when I told it my name.

“ _Yoosung,_ ” it said. “ _Welcome meow! Take good care of Master meow._ ” Its tone changed slightly. “ _He doesn’t bite hard._ ”

“Oookay,” Seven said, reaching across me to flip a switch on the cat’s belly. It stopped moving, and the lights behind its eyes turned off. “That’s enough for now, Jumin.”

“Jumin?” I said.

He looked back and the TV, navigating to the character selection screen. “It’s the cat’s name.”

“That’s a weird name for a toy cat....”

“You'll have to take that up with the cat's parents,” he said. His voice fell short on its usual joking buoyancy, and I got the sense that I shouldn’t ask any more.

We played for a while longer, but before long, Seven got a notification on his phone. He put down his controller in the middle of the round, telling me to keep playing solo for a bit, he had something urgent to attend to, but he’d be right back. Thinking little of it, I turned my focus back to the game. At first I was relieved to play with an actual chance of winning, but before long I realized that the feeling of losing to Seven was much more thrilling than playing alone. (My friends probably would have laughed at me for that.)

I lied back on his couch and turned my attention to my phone, reading a LOLOL blog for the latest news. I waited for him for minutes, and then those minutes became an hour. When I realized the sun was going down outside, I decided to check in on him.

His bedroom door was open a crack, so I peered in. He was sitting at his computer desk, frantically typing something onto a black screen. I must have watched him for a solid two or three minutes. In that time, he only let up typing once, to take a swig of soda from an open bottle.

I knew that this was not a time to interrupt. Furthermore, I knew that he could potentially be at it for much longer. I glanced at the clock on my phone and realized it was past my own dinnertime.

Eager to lend him a hand, I went to his kitchen, scanned his fridge and cabinets for ingredients. There wasn’t much, but he had eggs and rice. I also found the end piece of a wedge of cheese in his fridge. (There were Seven-sized bite marks on it. I didn’t judge.)

It took me a few seconds to work up the courage to knock on his door, but when I did, he sat up right away.

“Shit!” he said, whipping around in his chair. “Yoosung, I forgot you were here. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” I said, entering the room, taking in the sight of the... unusual decorations on his walls. “You seemed really stressed and busy, so I made you dinner. It didn’t seem like you’d get much opportunity to make some for yourself, but eating meals is really important, you know?”

I held out the plate to him, showing him the omelette on rice I’d prepared. He just stared at it. Wondering if it looked that bad, I frowned.

“Seven? Do you... want it?”

He took the plate in his hands and looked up at me, an overwhelmed expression on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed, his cheeks flushed. He closed his eyes, sighed, and opened them again.

“Yoosung, you’re like, the nicest person I’ve ever met,” he said.

 

 

The first time we kissed, it was on a dare. A freaking dare. I forgot the context of it shortly after. I just remembered we were on his bed, arms latched together in a kind of play-wrestling thing, and he was teasing me, egging me on, daring me to do it. And I remembered the feeling of his lips, dry and chapped, but warm, and briefly connected to mine.

I pulled away as fast as I’d done it, smiling triumphantly. When I saw the look on his face, all that triumph faded. He looked... serious. Then he smirked.

“What?” I said.

“You actually did it.”

I forced a laugh. “Well, yeah! That’s what you get for teasing me!”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “If I get rewarded like that, I’ll tease you more often.”

Jolted, I pulled my arms away from him, folding them against my chest. “That’s.... I’m not gay,” I stammered out.

He burst out laughing, rubbing a hand against his face, and took a moment to calm down. “Me neither,” he said, the sly smile on his face returning. “Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.”

“No, that sounds... pretty gay....” I tried to keep my tone light, but my heart was racing, my muscles tense.

“What’s gender have to do with it?” he said. “Kissing is objectively fun, and you’re objectively good at it.”

“Shut up. No I’m not.”

“Sure you are. I mean it.”

“I don’t even know _how_ to kiss someone!”

“Yoosung,” he said, his tone even. “Are you telling me that I was your first kiss?”

At that point, the gravity of the situation fully enveloped me. I’d just given my first kiss to Seven, my male best friend. This token I’d been saving for twenty years, waiting for the right person, or at least a nice girl I had chemistry with.... I gave it to Seven, and furthermore, he had liked it.

“Are you really upset?” he said. “Sorry, babe. But to be honest, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s....” I looked at his bedspread. “It feels like it should be.”

“Nah,” he said. “Think about it. We put all this meaning on the first kiss, right? But you just had yours, and nothing’s different. You’re not. Our friendship’s not. Your lips just happened to touch some other lips.”

I wasn’t used to him being this earnest about something so embarrassing. I would’ve assumed he’d take the opportunity to tease me, or prank me, but the things he was saying.... They made sense. I didn’t feel different, except for a growing sense of uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. Seven didn't seem different. The space between us was... well, tense. But not fundamentally different.

“Hey,” he said. “You hungry? For being such a good sport, I’ll give you a bag of my-”

“Did you mean what you said?”

He cocked his head. “Hm?”

I bit the inside of my lip, falling silent.

“What, when I said you were a good kisser? Sure, babe.”

“No,” I said. “When you said you wanted to do it again.” I gripped his bedspread. “Because I really don’t think that I was good at it. It felt weird, and I didn’t know what I was doing. And thinking about doing that for someone I’m actually dating.... I feel less confident than ever.”

He squinted at me. “You sound like you want more practice.”

“You’ve done it a lot, right? Or... more than I have, at least. You can show me what girls like.” My face was flushed, but I was staring directly at him. I needed to see his expressions, so if I got the sense that he was disgusted, or about to make fun of me, I could stop. I never got that sense.

“Yeah,” he said, straight-faced. “I guess I could.”

I knew it was an excuse. I knew that. But I wasn’t going to let this pass by for nothing. In all honesty, my first kiss _had_ changed me. It created a hunger in me, or at least, it made a prexisting hunger conspicuous. It was a hunger that kept me coming back, even when I couldn’t make excuses for it. This unsatisfiable want.

Much later I realized that it wasn’t really a hunger to kiss Seven, or to date him, or to be more intimate with him. It was... something more abstract. It drew me to his apartment like gravity. Eventually, it kept me digging in places he’d specifically forbidden. And it made me want to kiss him, and kiss him well, because maybe that would lower his guard, and then maybe I could break through his wall.

I didn’t want to date Seven (I told myself, over, and over, and over). I just wanted to know him.


	3. blanket fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! It's been so long! My semester is over now, so I finally have time to spend on art and fics without feeling guilty.... I hope you guys didn't give up on me, because I'm hoping to update a couple times a week from here on out and maybe even finish this before my winter break ends.
> 
> This chapter gets sexually explicit, so be warned! But also don't get your hopes up, because it's not exactly the sexiest kind of explicit... hahah.

“So what do you want to do today?”

Seven flopped down in front of me on his bed, extending his arm so that it shielded the open pages of my textbook. He looked at me expectantly, bright eyes squinting over the width of his toothy grin. Even if he weren’t slowly tugging my book out of my grasp, I’d have known that my studying for the night was over. That face never meant anything but trouble.

“Uhm.” I shifted my eyes, getting up on my elbows and giving an embarrassed smile. “I guess the stuff we usually do?” This was my fourth visit to Seven’s place in the past two weeks, and since the first, there’d been no more crying or embarrassing dramatic pleas. We’d fallen into an unspoken routine: studying or gaming, then dinner, making out, maybe more games, and finally I’d go home.

Seven lifted a finger and booped me on the freaking nose. I covered my face with both hands, with enough force to make an audible slap on contact. “You have no imagination, cutie,” he said. “Didn’t I tell you we could do whatever we want here? With no consequences?”

I kept my hands in place, hoping they’d conceal whatever blush was forming underneath. “What are you suggesting?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yoosung.” He rolled onto his stomach and came face-to-face with me. “You can fulfill any of your fantasies here. Everything you can’t do in the real world. Everything you’re too embarrassed to even admit that you want.” He took my wrists in his hands, peeling my hands back from from my face to expose my bare, flushed cheeks.

“ _Seven_...?” I voiced his name as a question in itself, my tone dry, trying all at once to guess his intentions and mask my own weighted assumption. His gaze layered piercingly golden eyes with friendly, drooping eyelids, disarming and relaxing in equal measures. For a moment I questioned how easily I could argue with a stare like that.

“We can do the things you’ve only dreamed about, and still wake up innocent at the end. Tell me, cutie.” He snaked a hand beneath my chin, using a thumb and index finger to reposition my head, force my face closer to his own. “What’s something you’ve wanted for so long but you could never have?”

“I’m....” I swallowed thickly. “This is....”

“I can tell you one of mine,” he said.

I found myself nodding involuntarily.

“Yoosung,” he said, leaning close enough to my ear that I could feel his breath on my cheek. I recognized the wet sound of Seven licking his lips. “Let’s build a blanket fort in my living room.”

I grabbed the nearest pillow and smothered his face.

 

* * *

 

We were meticulous in our planning. Something to know about Seven is that he tended to get carried away when he was excited about something, and I guess it was a little contagious. It was probably silly to spend forty minutes rearranging couches while we snacked on bags of chips, unplugging and dragging around standing lamps, pinning blankets together with clothespins.... But in the moment, I wasn’t thinking about that. There was this radiant inspiration in his smile, and it always managed to rub off on me.

What we had at the end was closer to a family-sized tent than a blanket fort, obstructing the entire width of his living room. We stood back to observe our work.

“Feeling nostalgic?” he asked, watching my face.

“What, for making these as a kid?” I laughed. “Uh… no. This is way bigger anything I ever did.”

He hummed dejectedly. “Really? You should’ve said something, if I was doing it wrong.”

“No, this was actually fun.” Letting his previous words sink in, I tilted my head. “Wait, did you never do this growing up?”

“Nope.” He grabbed my wrist, pulling gently, sending a wink behind him as we moved toward the pull-away entrance of our blanket fort. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

I felt myself shiver slightly. Was he doing this on purpose, or was my mind going to inappropriate places on its own...? I was embarrassed even thinking about it.

We had to get on our hands and knees to crawl inside. He went first and I followed behind, letting the flap fall shut behind me, leaving us in complete darkness. “One sec,” Seven said, and I heard him shuffle around for something before the blanket fort was illuminated with the small “click” of his flashlight. It left long shadows off of our bodies onto the odd patterned walls around us.

“We did a pretty good job,” he said.

“Yeah.” I noticed we’d dropped the volume of our voices, as though adjusting to the new size of our world.

“Well.” He shrugged. “ _I_ did a good job. If we’d used that standing lamp as a central support beam, the way that you suggested, we’d probably be buried right now.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Seven laughed, which really made me mad. I got back on my knees, crawling toward him. When I stopped about a foot from his face, one hand on his knee, his expression turned blank save for the hint of a smile.

“Turn off the flashlight,” I said.

“Oh? So demanding.” But Seven did what I told him.

I moved forward in the darkness, my lips finding his chin at first but readjusting quickly, with some help from a hand he’d pressed against the back of my head. It was a rough kiss without buildup. I used my teeth on his lower lip the way that always made him inhale sharply.

He broke away to speak, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re being so forward today.”

“You’ve been teasing me all night.” Leaning in, I lowered my voice. “I don’t like it.”

I kissed him again, drowning his soft laugh against my mouth. My moment of dominance was short-lived—in seconds, Seven had his free arm wrapped around my lower back, was guiding me backwards until I was flat on the floor, my bent legs almost straddling him as he hovered inches above me. I felt his tongue against my lips and lowered my jaw automatically, allowing more access, more warm breath shared between us. One of his hands found my wrist and before I knew what he was doing, my arm was pinned gently above my head.

He was needy. Intense. He took his lips off of mine, allowing me to catch my breath before his mouth found my neck, trailing soft suctioning kisses just under my jaw and harder bites above my collarbones. My voice came out whimpering, involuntarily. This was so much more than I’d come to expect from him—so much more than I’d been prepared to handle. I didn’t push him off. I accepted it hungrily, hoping to god he wouldn’t lower his hips on mine and discover just what effect he was having.

The sound of my phone ringing was like a splash of cold water. I scrambled for it, wiggling around underneath him until I could flip onto my stomach, pulling the cell phone from my back pocket. He moved his legs off to one side of me but flattened his chest against my back, watching the phone from over my shoulder. Flipping it open, I squinted, eyes focusing on the name illuminated in pale blue light.

“Oh, it’s my mom,” I said, thumb reaching for the Talk button.

Just as I pressed it, Seven yanked the phone from my grasp. He held it up high and flipped it shut, effectively dropping the call.

“Hey!” I raised onto one elbow, reaching blindly for it in the darkness. “That was my mom, you jerk!”

“Nope,” he said casually, lying on his side next to me. I think he slid my phone into his pocket. “No moms allowed. Those are the rules.”

“Since when is that a rule?”

“We’re in _our_ place now,” he said. “No contact with the outside world, dummy. Do I need to spell this out for you?”

“I’m not dumb,” I said, lying on my back and facing the sound of his voice. “We just played LOLOL like two hours ago, Seven. With headsets. And my entire guild.”

There was a moment’s pause for him to come up with some dumb clever excuse. “LOLOL is the bridge between universes,” he decided, speaking in his faux-dramatic tone. “Many will enter, but only the two of us were pure enough to be admitted into paradise.”

“It sounds like you’re describing purgatory.”

“Well, I _am_ Catholic.”

“Shut up. No you’re not.”

There was a long silence.

“... _Are_ you?”

“No, Yoosung, the crucifix in my room is to ward off vampires.”

“Shut up! I didn’t realize....”

He laughed. “Sorry, babe. But you’re lucky your obliviousness makes you so cute.”

I rolled my eyes although he couldn’t see it, ignoring his insult. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were Catholic.” It hurt more than I could admit. There was this hollow feeling in my stomach.

“Don’t feel too bad. It’s not like I talk about it much.”

“So then, do you ever go to church? Were you born into a Catholic family, or did you convert?”

“ _Now_ you want to know everything, huh?”

“I do!” I lifted up onto my elbow. “I really do want to know, Seven. I- I’d like to know more about you.”

He inhaled slowly, then let out a long sigh. Then he was quiet for a long time. My elbow started to hurt, so I lowered back onto my side.

“It’s so weird in here,” he said suddenly. “I feel like I’m losing my sense of scale.”

“Are you avoiding my questions?” I asked, a tone of hurt coming through in my voice.

“Friends shouldn’t talk about politics or religion. I mean it, though. I’m starting to forget how big this fort is, or how big my living room is in comparison. It’s like we built this weird little space portal.”

“Just what we needed,” I said. “Yet another layer removed from reality.”

He laughed. “The more the merrier.”

He wouldn’t answer any serious questions after that. We lied in silence for what felt like an hour, though it was probably much less, until finally I started dozing off. After helping me pack up, he sent me on my way.

 

* * *

 

I was thinking about him that night, lying in bed, my winter comforter pulled up to my chin. I’d been planning to go to sleep, but my heart was pounding. My cock was already hard and straining against my stomach by the time I reluctantly touched myself with images of him in my mind.

Stroking myself slowly, I flipped through scenarios in my head. I lifted my knees, spreading my legs somewhat and imagining him inside of me, rolling his hips against me, his face lowered for some reason although I could hear the sound of his breathing. I frowned, a feeling of discomfort settling in my chest. Apart from knowing almost nothing about gay sex, I didn’t want to analyze what felt so foreign about this, so disconnected and wrong, so I flipped scenarios.

It was a little more natural, physically, to think of myself inside of him, at least a sensation I could imagine, could connect to my fist pumping around my cock, but.... No, no, still wrong, still so weird. I couldn’t picture him like that, not Seven. It was like... even with those eyes that disarmed me, the weirdly toned muscles I caught myself staring at, the lowered voice that gave me goosebumps. They lost their spark in my imagination. It felt like fucking a random stranger.

I moved my spare hand to the head of my cock and imagined him sucking me off. This was a little better. I could think of him pinning my legs down, using his fingernails on my thighs a little bit. Not too hard, just hard enough to.... Ugh, fuck. My back arched upward. I stroked faster, starting to get into it.

He’d hum softly against me, sounding so damn smug. God, I was sure he’d love to see me come undone, but- he’d- he’d be gentle enough, too, and really generous, and I thought about him with my length in his mouth, looking up at me with his eyes, and-

No no. No. No. Okay.

I thought about him stroking me, his hand replacing my own. He’d be hovering over me, his face pressed against my hair, hot breath on my ear, one arm reached down to touch me. His grip would be a little too firm, but I’d like it, and he’d grin at any involuntary sounds I made. I reached out of bed with my spare hand, grasping for my box of tissues. I finally got one and pulled it back under the covers with me.

He’d talk to me during it—I probably couldn’t shut him up if I tried. He’d be teasing, calling me cute, calling me his- his kitten. _God_. But he’d know that I liked it. I thrusted my hips into my hand, _his_ hand, and he’d take that as the sign to go faster, to finish me off with his lips on my neck, under my ear, his teeth nibbling at my earlobe, and then he’d whisper in my ear and-

“ _Uhhn-_ ”

I released into the tissue, a small amount of cum dribbling onto my stomach. I let it pool there as I caught my breath, my slightly lifted legs still trembling. For a moment, I settled in the afterglow, my brain releasing renewal into my veins. And then I realized what I’d just done, finished cleaning myself, and dropped the tissue on the floor to deal with in the morning. I rolled onto my side and faced the wall.

This was getting to be too much. I still wasn’t quite sure what it meant. All I knew was that I’d moved into new territory, and for the first time he wasn’t holding my hand, dragging me alongside him. This was all me.

I wondered fleetingly if he ever did this while thinking about me. I realized that the answer was probably yes. I realized that I really wanted it to be.

Rolling over again, I buried my face in my pillow. I needed more from Seven. More of anything. If I were moving forward, then it couldn’t be on my own. That’s all that I really knew.


	4. intrusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep thinking these chapters are going to get shorter during the Slow Build, but then they wind up being almost just as long.... I hope this one's not too boring, sadly there are no uncomfortable masturbation scenes.
> 
> Oh also I wrote a Yooseven one shot for Christmas, so you can go read that if it's something that interests you~

As much as we played around, there were a couple things that Seven and I were always completely serious about. His job, for example. I always knew that when his phone started blowing up with alerts that it was time to make myself scarce, and he never denied the pressure of the situation. I’d usually make some excuse to leave, like a raid scheduled with my LOLOL group, but we’d both know the real reason I ran out so quickly.

The other thing we were serious about was brunch.

It probably sounds dumb, but it was our favorite ritual. Every so often, maybe once a month, I’d find time to visit him on a Sunday morning. He’d let me in, my grocery bags in hand, and we’d spend a couple hours in his kitchen, joking around and cooking more breakfast foods than we could possibly eat. At first, this was my sneaky way of merging my desire to spend time together with my desire to keep his fridge stocked with real food. I’d leave him days worth of fresh fruit and omelets.

As for Seven? I think he liked the theatricality of it. “Hold on. Don’t move a muscle.” He held out a hand, motioning for me to stop, and I put my fork back onto the paper plate in my lap. Seven disappeared into his bedroom down the hall. I contemplated sneaking a strawberry while he was gone, just to make him mad, but he was running back toward me in seconds grasping something colorful in his fist.

I smiled. “Right, how could I forget....”

Lifting my chin up to give him access to my shirt collar, I let Seven clip a bright green bow tie onto my t-shirt. Then he stood up straight, clipping a red bow tie onto his own shirt with an affected, aristocratic frown. With the accessory in place, he dropped onto the couch beside me, moved his own paper plate to his lap, and lifted his blue plastic cup of soda.

“May the eleventh official meeting of the Brunch Boys commence,” he said.

My mouth already full of eggs, I gave a muffled response. “I _never_ agreed to being called a Brunch Boy.”

“You don’t _agree_ to be a Brunch Boy, Yoosung. It’s our calling.” He snorted slightly, then said through a restrained laugh, “We’ve been Brunching since birth.”

As Seven erupted into giggles, I put two strawberries in my mouth to conceal my smile. I didn’t speak again until he’d quieted down. “You’re so weird.”

While we ate, I caught him up on my progress in school. Our new “arrangement” came with its own boundaries, but thankfully, I was never discouraged from talking about my life outside his apartment. In fact, Seven still made a point to ask about how my classes were going.

“So, how’s Professor Song?” he asked. “Still giving you a hard time over your essays?”

I tilted my head to the side. “Actually, I think I have a better idea of what he wants now. Although....”

“Although?”

I frowned. “It’s such a depressing cycle, isn't it? You finally figure out what your professor wants, and then they’re already assigning twice as much work. And then multiply that amount of work by the number of classes you’re taking total.” I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hands, then dragged those hands down my face dramatically. “It’s the wooooorst....”

“Uh huh,” he said. “And then add that to how many hours of LOLOL each night?”

Slowly, I drew my fork up to my mouth, took a bite of omelet, and chewed carefully. I stared hard at an empty wall until I was finished chewing, and swallowed. “... Can’t _you_ at least empathize with me, Seven?”

His tone became abruptly more playful. “Aww, I’m sorry. Poor Baby Yoosung, such a tragic figure! How could I be so blind.”

“Shut uuup,” I shot back, although he was already snickering into his cup of soda.

A knock on the door interrupted his laughter. “Who would.... One second.” I watched him stand up, leaving his half-empty plate behind to answer the front door.

My view outside was obscured by a coat rack positioned between myself and the front entrance, so all I could hear was the firm voice that berated him the moment he’d opened the door. “You have ten seconds to explain to me what _this_ was doing perched outside my window.”

Seven’s demeanor changed immediately. His hand flew up to his neck, snatching the bowtie off of his shirt collar, while he tried to answer confidently. “Oh! Uh, that’s.” Seven scratched his head. “How did she get outside...?”

“ _She_?” The voice scoffed. “You’ve completely lost it, kid.”

Seven had a look on his face I’d never seen before, his left hand clenching a fist of his own hair. I could tell he was trying to hide it behind a weak smile, but he looked nervous. Downright flustered. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the mystery visitor was holding a knife on him or something. I decided to make my presence known. “Hey, Seven? Who’s at the door?”

The voice outside got quieter. “ _Who is that?_ ” Suddenly, Seven was being backed into the house by the intruding figure, and I finally got a good look at him. His appearance, to be honest, caught me off-guard. He looked slightly older than Seven, dressed in all black apart from leopard-print trim accenting his jacket, and he sported the type of hairstyle that I think you’d describe as a mullet. In one hand, he held something I recognized: one of the robot pets Seven kept around the house. This one was a parrot.

But the moment he turned his eyes on me, looked me up and down with a mildly sickened expression, I became aware how ridiculous _I_ must’ve looked. A bleached-haired young man with a paper plate of food in his lap and a clip-on bow tie attached to his t-shirt, at 11 AM on a Sunday morning. I opened my mouth, but I struggled to find what to say.

The visitor turned to Seven. “You brought your _boyfriend_ here?” he asked incredulously, almost seething.

My stomach flipped at the assumption. “I’m not-”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Seven answered even louder. “But he is a friend of mine, and he’s trustworthy.” He put on his trademark grin. “Besides, do you really think I’d let someone in here and not keep a close watch on him? What do you think I’m-”

“Oh my _God_ I don’t care.” The visitor folded one arm against his chest and held out the parrot with his other hand. Although his voice was forceful, his eyelids were lowered in a way that made him look bored. “I came here to talk to you about _this_.”

“Right.” Seven was scratching his head again, gesturing with his other hand as he tried to explain. “I really can’t tell you how sh- how it got out. I always have my doors and windows closed and locked. M-maybe when I went for my mail this morning, I....”

“I don’t care how it happened.” The visitor shook the robot toward his face a couple of times. “This has a camera in it, doesn’t it? What do you think happens if it gets into the wrong hands? If everything it’s recorded in this apartment somehow finds its way into someone else’s possession?”

“The camera doesn’t even record! It’s just a vision sensor, so the robot can find its way around.”

“The robot still has your handiwork all over it!”

I sat still while they argued, carefully observing the look on Seven’s face. He kept trying to deflect, to lighten the tension, to act casual, but I could tell he was struggling. Something about this man really threatened him. Somehow, the visitor knew that Seven did illegal things here, and valued just as Seven did the importance of keeping those things a secret. But Seven had told me he didn’t have any bosses or coworkers, only semi-anonymous clients who paid him with like, Bitcoins or whatever. So what was their connection then...?

The visitor suddenly landed the robot on an end table, not too hard, just forcefully enough to create a slam that made Seven jump. “I’m finished arguing with you,” he said calmly. “Just remember that I did you a favor by moving you out here. If you’re stupid enough to make a mistake like this twice, I won’t hesitate to reset you somewhere far, far away from me.” He pulled open the front door and left without another word.

The room was completely silent in his wake. Seven stood in place, looking slightly stunned, while I realized I’d been clutching my paper plate so hard that I’d created finger-shaped intents in it. I decided to speak first.

“Seven? Who was that?”

Before I could blink, he was drifting back into his regular personality, giving me a casual smile. “Ah, did he scare you? He can be kind of intimidating.... Sorry, cutie.”

I shook my head. “I’m not scared, I’m just confused. Who was it? Why was he so upset?”

Seven picked up the robot parrot from the end table, turning it over in his hands and scanning its surface for signs of damage. He took a seat on the arm of the smaller sofa across from mine. “Mean old Vanderwood didn’t even introduce himself, huh? He’s just a grouch. Forget about him.”

“Seven....”

He stood up, bringing the robot to the metal birdcage he kept hanging in the corner of the room and then mounting it on the perch inside. “He blows everything out of proportion. Completely paranoid.”

As soon as he closed the front of the cage, the parrot’s eyes lit up from the back by red bulbs, although it remained motionless. A small, feminine voice came from inside the parrot’s body: “Battery charging.” Then it fell silent, its eyes turning black once again. Seven finally rejoined me on the couch, picking up his plate of food. “Can’t believe he interrupted brunch, though. What a monster.”

Seven hadn’t looked directly at me since the first time I spoke. I frowned. “You’re acting like it wasn’t a big deal, but I think he kind of upset you. Don’t you want to talk about it?”

He smiled in my direction, more toward my bow tie than my face. “Like I said, he’s a little intimidating. But it’s all talk. Honestly, I think half of it’s just the outfit.”

Before I answered, something clicked in my brain. I noticed something, like this slight quiver to his voice, and it registered to me as... well, vulnerability? From there, the conclusion came so naturally. I’d been obsessing over this vague idea in my head, that I need to know Seven, that I need to draw more out of him. And suddenly this guy comes into his house, scolds him a little bit, and leaves him more agitated than I’d ever seen him.

So I realized, this was my chance. If I was going to pry something out of him, now would be the opportune time. I made my clumsy first pass at it.

“You know that if you ever want to open up about something that’s bothering you, you can trust me, right?”

He smirked. “Aww, are you worrying about me? How cute!” He kept talking in that teasing voice, about how happy he was to see me dote on him, but I lost focus after the first few words while trying to plan my next attempt.

I put my plate on the coffee table then leaned back, shrugging. “Maybe I _am_ worried. But only because that guy seems like such a jerk.”

Seven was silent for a moment, and then he laughed out loud. “Hahahah, you think? Yoosung, you’re funny.” (I bit back a smile at the compliment, even if it was meant to tease me.) “Sure, I guess he can be pretty mean.”

I sat up more. “I mean, yeah! What gives him the right to bust in here to yell at you over a toy?”

Seven grinned while taking a drink of his soda. “He gets all wound up. I think he might be a little sadistic, between you and me.”

“That’s....” The description caught me off-guard, but I recovered quickly. “That’s no excuse to be so aggressive, don’t you think? For... for a second, I even thought he might yell at _me_.”

“Hmmm.” His expression soured. “Yeah, I guess he was pretty out of line. Wish you didn’t have to be here for it.”

“I wish it didn’t happen at all,” I said more softly.

He had this unreadable look on his face. He was staring at his plate of food, still smiling somewhat, but in a way that looked fake. When he spoke, his voice matched it: oddly amused, but hallow. “Yeah, I guess.”

I swallowed hard. “What’s his relationship to you, anyway?”

Seven looked straight at me, and I knew instantly that I’d blown it. I was way too eager, and his guard was back up. As he stared at me, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips curled up slightly, I thought he might actually be onto my intentions. But the expression disappeared just as quickly, and he shrugged. “He’s just the building’s groundskeeper. Doesn’t like finding people’s trash around.”

That’s when I knew that this approach was hopeless. Partially because, if I pushed further, I knew he would’ve caught on. Mostly because I was almost gullible enough to believe the groundskeeper lie. I just couldn’t outsmart him.

“Yoosung,” he said, gesturing to the coffee table with his fork, “your omelet’s gonna get cold. Hurry up or I’ll steal it.”

With a resigned sigh, I lifted my plate and sat it back in my lap, digging my fork into one of the final scraps of food.

I listened to Seven chew his food as we ate wordlessly. “A pretty good brunch, despite a few setbacks,” he finally said.

“Yeah.” I glanced over at him, staring hard. He wasn’t looking at anything in particular, maybe the corner of the coffee table or a patch of carpet. But his eyes were so focused. They always looked that way. As relaxed as he usually seemed, Seven stared the same way at everything—his surroundings, his computer screen, other people. His look was intense, engrossing. It made you feel significant.

No wonder I always wanted him to stare at me. The thought fell into my head before I could stop it.

I turned away from him and back to my plate, but on the way over, my eyes caught a glimpse of something. The birdcage in the corner. Staring at it, and remembering the delicate way Seven held that robotic bird, gave me an idea. Maybe I could venture one last attempt.

“What’s the parrot’s name?”

He looked over at me. “Hm?”

I pointed. “The parrot's name. The robots all have names, right? Like, weird ones?”

After a moment’s pause, he gave me a laugh. Totally forced. “Why are they weird?”

“One of them was just a letter, wasn't it? And the kitten one....” I squinted my eyes, thinking hard. “That one was, like, a regular person’s name. Something with a J. That’s kinda creepy, Seven.” I shot him a smile.

He frowned in a way that made him look almost ill, and he didn’t answer.

“C’mon,” I said, “what’s her name? I promise I won’t make fun of it.”

He stared at the birdcage, still not answering.

I smiled wider, involuntarily. I could sense his break incoming, and something about that excited me. “Don’t be weird about it. I just want to know the name.”

“Jaehee,” he said. “I named her Jaehee.” Seven didn’t tear his gaze away from the parrot.

“Huh.” I dropped my smile, but the adrenaline in my blood spoke to how excited I was. Without knowing how, I could tell this was significant. “It’s a pretty name. Is it based on anything?”

Seven put a bite of omelet in his mouth, eyes still cast across the room. Holding up his paper plate, he revealed that he’d finished his food without me realizing. After taking his time to chew, then swallow, he looked at me. “Brunch time's over. Didn’t you say you had studying to do today?”

A cold feeling cut into my adrenaline rush. “It’s still so early,” I said.

“I have work to finish, too.” Seven stood up from the couch, gathering both of our cups and taking the plate from my lap without permission. He started toward the kitchen.

My voice came out louder, more accusatory than I’d planned. “Are you avoiding the question?”

Seven let out a bark of laughter before disappearing into the kitchen. “It’s just a toy, Yoosung,” he called back.

And with that, my charade was over for the day. I knew I was defeated.

 

* * *

 

The walk home was weird. I was a beautiful day, despite the early winter cold. The sky was cloudless, an icy blue, and the sun hung clear in the sky. Kids were out and about, roaming the sidewalks. Whole families were out. And I was out too, opting to walk the four measly miles back to my campus instead of taking the bus. I liked walks at times like this.

I kept thinking about his sendoff. A simple “see you next time,” and a kiss on the forehead. A kiss on the _forehead_. I always thought those were cute, but this one was like a slap in the face. He might as well have pushed me out the door. See you next time.

As I crossed the street, I caught sight of a couple holding hands, stared bitterly at them for a second before I realized that they were staring right back. I turned my head forward, but I could feel their eyes following me, even after I passed. What the hell? Did I have “fucking pathetic” written on my face, or what?

“See you next time.” I was so disappointed. It felt like ten steps backwards. So far away from what I wanted from him. I wanted us _closer_ , I didn’t want a chaste kiss and the kind of farewell you get from your dentist. I wanted to drag him toward me. I wanted to feel something _real_ from him. I wanted... just... okay, now there were _definitely_ more people staring.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around to realize that everyone walking past was taking momentary glances at me, then nervously turning away. Their gazes would linger around my eyes. I shot a hand toward my face instinctively.

Oh.

I pulled it away, stared at the slick of fresh tears on my palm. I’d been crying for about three blocks now. Well, then.

Taking a pair of mittens from my inside coat pocket, I spent a moment wiping off my cheeks, not bothering to hide the action from anyone around me. A little late for embarrassment now. Any other time, I would’ve ran straight home, red as a tomato. But I was still too upset. Too raw from the roundabout rejection I’d just received. With my face dry, and confident that it would stay that way, I buried the mittens in my pocket and kept walking.

Maybe next time, I’d need a different approach. Some other tactic. I’d think about it later. For that walk home, I just wanted to feel sorry for myself.


	5. stir crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try not to be self-deprecating but you can really tell I was off my game for this one. Will do better next time !!
> 
> Content warning for sex things happening in this chapter. Again, excruciatingly awkward. I'm sorry but this is how they have to be right now. :'(
> 
> Also I made an 8tracks playlist for this fic hahah. http://8tracks.com/babyleefs/none-of-this-is-real

“We should go somewhere together.”

I was kneeling backwards on Seven’s couch, pushing down the blinds of a high window with my fingers to peer outside. Compared to the relative darkness of his apartment, the light outside made me squint my eyes. Although I couldn’t see his reaction, I could practically feel his stare burning a hole in me.

“ _Go_ somewhere?”

I turned to look at him. His game controller was dropped in his lap, and he stared at me with one eyebrow raised. I frowned.

“Don’t react like that! This is my third time over this week, and I’m going stir crazy in this house, Seven. Aren’t _you_?”

“I get out plenty,” he said, facing the TV screen. It shone blue-ish light onto his skin and cast shadows up the walls. “If you’re not happy here, you don’t have to come over.”

“Seven,” I said, dropping down and sitting on my heels. I pushed his arm gently. “C’mon, don’t say that....”

“Sorry,” he said. At first it was a terse response, but then he turned to me, looking more sincere. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay.” I glanced at his lap, where he was now fiddling absentmindedly with the controller. “But it’s not like we’ve never been places before. We went to the mall a couple times, you came to that event at my school.... We used to walk to the park! Remember?”

“Yoosung....” He rubbed his neck, eyes now fixed on the TV screen again. “You know I don’t really like going out. Don’t you?”

“... Oh.”

I bowed my head. Of course I knew. He’d never said it so explicitly, but it wasn’t something he was particularly secretive about either. Those park trips happened ages ago, back when we first became friends. Looking back, I guess they were more for appearances than anything. More about making a good first impression with me.

His eyes looked so tired, so sad.... For a second, I actually thought about pressing him for a reason he hated going out. His guard seemed lowered already—I probably could’ve gotten something.

But I wasn’t a _monster_. I couldn’t take advantage of that miserable expression.

“I- I figured it was just... a fear of _crowds_ or something,” I said. I was still sitting backwards on his couch, clutching the back of it with both hands. “Or being around strangers.”

He gave a tiny shrug. “Something like that.”

“Then we don’t have to be around people!” I sat up, my motivation returning. “We could take a drive in one of your cars. I know you love driving. Or....” I reached over, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie. “Seven, we could go to the beach!”

He looked over, giving me a weak smile. “It’s November, babe.”

“I- I know.” I dropped the sleeve, pulling my hand back nervously. “It wouldn’t be to swim. Just to look at the water.”

He shook his head, grinning a little wider. “If we caught pneumonia together, would that be a good bonding experience?”

“I’d make us sandwiches for the drive. We’d listen to music on the radio and take selfies in the car.”

“We’d get there at....” He untucked his phone from the pocket, checking the time. “About nine PM. Just in time for the seamonsters.”

“We could dip our feet in, even if it’s cold. And we could sit out on the dock and take pictures. But mostly we’d just... watch the waves go in and out.”

“Compromise. I could probably find a live ocean feed online, if that’d do it for you.”

“Seven!” It came out louder than I wanted, and my voice cracked.

He stiffened up when he heard me, that teasing expression dropped entirely. I watched him lift a hand, reach it forward, then backtrack, running it through his hair.

It made me so mad.

“Can’t you at least give me a straight answer?” I tried to keep my voice steady. I was clutching the back of the couch again, my grip tight. “If you don’t want to go somewhere, just say so. I mean... I obviously really want to. I want to hang out with you so much, and your apartment is so _small_.” I wiped away the small tears that had formed at the corner of my eyes, more from frustration than anything. “But your comfort matters more than that. So if you’re uncomfortable, just say so. Don’t make it a joke. Don’t be so... _dishonest_ with me.”

For a minute, he looked sort of upset. I thought he was about to fight back, until his expression calmed as he took a deep breath.

Then, he nodded. “Okay.” He scooted closer on the couch, to look at me directly. “Okay. I’ll try to be more straightforward. But Yoosung?”

I frowned. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been....” He stopped and closed his eyes for a moment. I listened to him inhale softly once again. When his eyes opened, he’d regained a more confident expression. “Do you remember what I told you? When we first became friends?”

“Which thing?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

He held his eye contact. “I don’t live under normal circumstances. There are things that I just can’t tell you, for both of our sakes. And....” He lifted a hand and held it in front of my face for a moment before finally settling on rubbing the top of my hair. Then he pulled away. “I also explained back then that I’d have to leave someday. I established all of this at the beginning, and we both agreed that we wanted to be friends anyway.”

I felt my expression twist as I tried not to cry. I turned my body so that I was facing him fully. “I still don’t want you to leave,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I don’t want to leave either.”

“Why do you have to do illegal things?” I demanded weakly. “Why do you have to be a hacker? If you can cover your tracks so well, why can’t you get out of this? You’re the smartest person I know. I’d help you get a normal job. I’d help you with everything.”

He shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that. There are other circumstances.”

“And you can’t tell me,” I said flatly.

“This is what I’m saying, Yoosung. I know you think I’ve been dishonest, but I’m more open with you than anyone else. Just about the things that _matter_ to me." His voice got soft. "You know my likes and my dislikes. You know... what I’m afraid of. You know what I’m bad at. Nobody else in the world knows that.”

I tilted my head. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’m closer to you than anyone. And that’s why I keep certain things separate from us. I want to enjoy our time together while it lasts. I don’t want to poison this.”

I stared at him breathlessly. Had he ever been this honest before? It was overwhelming, like sitting in front of a different person. Someone more complicated, in a way. But more real, too. My muscles felt weak. I blinked a few times, searching for a response.

“I understand that,” I said. “But I worry so much. I’d feel better about letting you go if I at least knew why I couldn’t stop you.”

He shook his head, eyes lowered. “Trust me when I say that you wouldn’t.”

“Seven,” I said. “I’m going crazy about it already.”

We looked at each other for a long time. His eyes, steady but slightly pitiful. My eyes, probably weak with sadness. Finally, he turned toward the TV.

“I’ll think about it, okay? I’ll think seriously about sharing more.”

I sat up straight. “Really? Do you promise that?”

He nodded. “I promise.”

Without warning, I threw my arms around his shoulders, embracing him tightly. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

He rubbed a hand on my back. “Yeah. But I think in all this dramatic talk, you forgot something important.”

I pulled away. “Yeah?”

Seven handed me a controller, completely deadpan. “You came here so I could beat you at Mario Kart.”

Grinning, I took away the controller and tried to sound annoyed. “And you say _I’m_ the game addict.”

“You’re just so fun to play with,” he teased as he loaded up the track select screen. “You lose so badly every time. Where else am I supposed to take out my sadistic energy?”

The answer caught me off-guard. “That’s....” I forced a laugh, which came out shaky and nervous, then coughed. “Um. Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of that night was, simply put, really great. We didn’t actually spend long on our game, both suddenly in a chatty mood. Our conversations weren’t about anything important, or even anything in particular. We just... talked. About games, movies, dumb memes, my plans for the upcoming break. I felt a wall broken down. Suddenly we could talk without all the tension that had built between us in the past weeks.

We both wound up in his bed after a while. We always did, as our night winded down, but usually just to kiss until we got bored. This time, we lied side-by-side on his mattress, a foot of space between us, staring at the ceiling while we chatted.

“Y’know, you’ve been over a lot recently,” Seven mused. “Your other friends must be getting jealous of me.”

“Oh, hahah.” I shrugged against his bedspread. “We’re all just really busy with schoolwork. Ironically, I get more studying done when I come over here.”

“Hmm. You’re still seeing them though, right?”

“Of course.... We have classes together.”

“How about _other_ aspects of your social life?” He stretched out his elbow to nudge me in the side. “Is Cutie Yoosung still desperate for every girl’s attention?”

I forced a laugh, feeling my pulse quicken. “Umm. Let’s not talk about girls.”

Although I wasn’t facing his way, I could tell by the sound of his voice that he’d turned to look at me. “That bad, huh?”

“ _Ummmm_.” I fiddled with his bedspread with the hand he couldn’t see. “Well. What about you, Seven?”

“Me?”

“I mean, obviously you don’t have a... a _girlfriend_ , or anything. But don’t you, like.... I mean, do you ever...?” I cleared my throat. “Y’know. Guys h-have needs, and....”

“Are you asking if I hook up with people?”

I sighed, too relieved to be completely embarrassed. “Yes?”

He took about two seconds too long to answer, now facing the ceiling again. “Nope! I appreciate how smooth you apparently think I am, but I’m way too busy for things like that.”

“Oh.”

There was a long silence between us. I desperately wished I knew what he was thinking, because my mind was all stuck on one thing.

“Hey Seven?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s sort of... why we kiss, right? To, um... relieve... ph-physical wants that we have, because we don’t have girlfriends. Right?”

It felt like it took him a million years to respond. “I guess that’s it.”

I tried to play it cool, but I was squirming in place. “I was uncomfortable w-with the kissing at first, but... you were right! It’s really fun, and uh. Um. I don’t know.”

I knew that my face was bright red. I knew my expression was probably weird and terrified. But I forced myself to look at him. I had to gauge how he was feeling, whether he was serious or about to laugh in my face. So I turned to the side.

Seven was staring at me, lips parted, eyebrows slightly furrowed. And his face was red. Like, redder than I’d _ever_ expect Seven to get.

We shared a knowing silence as he put the pieces together.

He spoke next. “Do you really...?”

I nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“It just seems... surprising. I didn’t think you wanted that.”

“I-I mean, I don’t want too much! Just.... Um. Do you know the bases?”

“Like, the baseball metaphor for sex?”

“Yeah, that. Um. Maybe just the first or second base?”

“The first one is making out.”

“Then the second base.”

“Y-you need to be more specific.”

“What?”

“There are multiple definitions. Second base can mean more than one thing. I... I can’t know what you want from me unless you say it specifically.”

“Then what’s the point of the bases?!”

Seven snorted, but his eyebrows twitched, his mouth stretching awkwardly. I could tell he was nervous. “Honestly? I don’t think anyone uses that terminology past high school.”

I sat up, frustrated. Going in circles like that was _agonizing_. I needed to renavigate.

“Seven. Do you want to go farther than kissing with me?”

He blinked a couple times. I’d lost count of how many times I saw that blank expression that day. “Do _you_?”

“Yes.”

“Then yeah.” His expression became more confident.

I swallowed. “You mean that?”

He nodded, then sat up beside me. “But like I said, I need specificity, so....”

“T-touch me.”

His gaze hardened. “How?”

“Um.” I shrugged. “I guess with your hands?”

“Okay.” He gestured toward my lower half. “Take off your pants then.”

This was not at all the type of interaction I’d fantasized about, I realized as I awkwardly unzipped my jeans. Luckily, I think he was on a similar train of thought, because by the time the pants were off, he’d shifted modes entirely. Seven leaned into me, the look on his face one of smug confidence.

He planted a row of kisses down my neck, each one with a drag of his teeth. When he pulled back, I was already breathing heavily. He stared hard into my eyes, as though searching for something. Then he turned away.

Seven crawled toward the front end of his bed, and I took the opportunity to assess myself. Half hard in my blue boxers. Thank god only half still. Thank god the blue ones, and not a sillier pair. My legs looked okay. I wondered what about a guy’s legs was supposed to be attractive. I wondered if he found them attractive. I wondered what his bare legs looked like.

“Hey,” he called. I turned, and Seven was sitting against his headboard, legs spread out to leave room for me in his lap. He patted the place in front of him. “Here.”

I shifted toward him awkwardly on my knees, stopping in front of him, looking him in the eye. His gaze told me little. He lifted a limp hand and made a spinning motion with his finger. “Other way.”

I turned around and sat down, facing away from him. He put two wiry hands on my hips, pulling me backwards, breathing hot against my neck until I was flush against his torso. Scooting close against him, I felt nothing but the taut fabric of his jeans. I tried not to let it frustrate me.

Seven kept his hands on my hips as he sucked at my neck above my t-shirt collar, pulling back skin between his teeth, no doubt leaving tiny marks in his wake. He kept going at one side of my neck until it was raw, and I was whimpering at his bites. Then he switched sides, finally pushing his palms down my thighs.

I pressed back against him, disappointed at the lack of skin-to-skin contact. It would be awkward to ask him to undress, but....

I reached back with one hand, pulling at his hoodie. “Can you take this off? It’s too much.”

He complied without answering, pulling off the hoodie and tossing it onto the floor.

This was better. He was wearing a black tanktop underneath, meaning his arms were now entirely exposed. Warm, surprisingly strong. I felt them move against me as he traced his fingers up and down my inner thighs.

I leaned back against him, eyes closed, breathing through my mouth, letting him do his work on me. I had my legs spread as he did this up and down motion against my thighs, and it had me going crazy already. With each pull inward, he’d drag those fingertips a little farther, move a little closer, but then pause, pulling away excruciatingly slowly. He’d pull in, just a bit further this time. The halt would have me shivering, and then he’d pull away again.

As expected, he was teasing me. It was so much worse and so much _better_ than I’d imagined. I just lied there, clenching my fists into his bed sheets, touched by nothing but the thin fabric of my boxers.

When my breathing became unsteady, I had to make him stop. “Seven.” I didn’t hide the whimper in my voice. “Please, please.”

He laughed softly against my neck, finally finished leaving his hickeys. (I wondered if I’d get to wear them home, real undeniable evidence that he had touched me. I wanted it so badly.) “I was wondering how long you’d let me do that.”

I breathed a shuddering inhale as he touched me through my boxers. I was completely hard now, and when I relaxed against his frame, I realized that he was, too. Letting him touch me, really finally touch me, felt like a dream. My heart pounded hard. I made little effort to mask my tiny noises of approval each time he dragged his palm against me.

I think the sounds confused him. “Are you overly-sensitive? That’s fun.”

Seven finally pulled at the elastic band of my boxers. I lifted to let him slide them down. He left them at my thighs, and I kicked them off the rest of the way, wanting to keep my legs spread. To feel like the limp, needy offering I was. I squirmed slightly when he finally took me in his hand, clutched my hands against his thighs as he stroked my cock.

I felt like a teenager, getting this worked up over just a handjob. But it was _his_ hand, warm and long-fingered and slightly rough. It was his breath on my ear, his arms around me. It’s hard to explain. I’d grown so fond of every part of him, and now getting him in this context.... It spoiled me? It was like reaching the end of a favorite game and unearthing new sidequests. A relationship extended. You already love the game. You love the whole atmosphere of the game, the feeling it gives you, and now you’re handed a new layer.

Um. Something like that.

“S-Seven,” I breathed, warmth pooling in my gut.

“Hm?”

I dug my fingers into his thighs. “Talk to me.”

He laughed softly. “Is that your kink?”

“ _Mmmm_.” I was too impatient. My thighs were trembling with every stroke of his hand.

“Okay, okay.” Seven leaned into my ear. His voice, rough and low, guided me the rest of the way through. “It’s fun seeing you get all worked up like this. I knew you were easy to please, but this is so cute. So cute. Look at how you’re shaking. You’re just falling apart for me, aren’t you? Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.”

I came quickly into his hand.

Seven was already moving while I was still dazed. He worked his way out from underneath me, so I pushed myself down the mattress and flopped back onto his pillow. Seven left for the bathroom, and when he’d returned, he had a roll of toilet paper in his hands. I watched immobile through half-lidded eyes as he cleaned me off, then tossed the wad of toilet paper into his trash can.

I took the corner of his t-shirt between my fingers. “Seven,” I said. “Can I help you next?”

He smiled and unlatched my hand from his shirt. “Maybe next time.”

I wanted to argue, but he was already out of the room again. Instead I rolled over, my bottom half still exposed, and pressed my face into his pillow. I was so tired. All of my late nights and insomnia had chosen this moment to catch up to me. So I guess I fell asleep after that.

 

I liked Seven. I really, really, really liked Seven. I couldn’t hide that anymore, behind anxieties or the pretense of heterosexuality. I just liked the way he made me feel too much.

Seven made me feel like enough. Good enough, smart enough, kind enough. I knew that he wanted me to study harder and game less, but more than anything, he just wanted me to be happy. He decided to befriend me in real life after I told him about Rika, I think because he cared too much to let me suffer alone. Everything he did, whether I liked it or not, I knew he did with care.

And I loved spending time with him. He was fun. He was dedicated. He was funny, sort of. He was warm and complicated and sometimes looking in his eyes scared me, because there was so much I didn’t understand. More than anything, I wanted to know him. I wanted to know every single complicated part of him, and I wanted him to be safe with me.

This changed things. My feelings made everything so much more difficult. But I couldn’t think about that then. I felt too good, too relieved, to let myself think about it.

 

When I woke up, I had a blanket draped over me. The yellow light of the overhead lamp was jarring. Though my right shoulder, slightly exposed from below the blanket, was freezing cold, I could hear his space heater running full blast. Seven was at his computer desk beside the bed, typing away at his black coding screen. I stirred, stretching and rubbing my eyes, but he didn’t acknowledge me.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked, still lying on my stomach.

“Like an hour.” He didn’t pull his eyes away from the screen. “Sleep well?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think I needed that.”

“Good.” He sounded sincere. “I hate to kick you out, but you should get home soon.”

My heart hurt a little, though I knew it was coming. “Can’t I just stay the night?”

He finally looked over, shooting me a small empathetic smile. “Sorry, Yoosung.” Getting up from his chair, Seven headed to where my pants and underwear were located, at the end of the bed. He tossed them up to me. “Get dressed, okay?” He returned to his computer desk.

I pulled the clothes under the covers with me, putting them on where it was nice and warm. I watched his face as I got dressed.

“Hey Seven?”

“Yeah?”

Feeling a bit drowsy still, I did my best to answer coherently. “Please think carefully about what we talked about before. Don’t forget, okay? And... I really hope you decide to tell me more of your secrets. I care about you, Seven. And I really, really want to know more.”

Once again, his expression didn’t change. “Okay.”


	6. resets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knew that this would be a short one, so I went ahead and wrote another chapter in the same 24 hours. No spoilers, but there are many interesting things happening very soon that I'm super thrilled to write about.

**[TEXT 4:24 PM] Yoosung:** Is it ok if I show up at 6? :)

 **[TEXT 4:58 PM] Yoosung:** Hey Seven?

 **[TEXT 5:15 PM] Yoosung:** Please answer lol

 **[TEXT 5:15 PM] Yoosung:** It’s fine if you’re busy! I’d just like to know if our plans changed

 **[TEXT 5:36 PM] Yoosung:** Gonna come knock on your door I guess?

 **[TEXT 5:40 PM] Yoosung:** Omw

 **[TEXT 5:43 PM] Seven:** fjdksljfd hey

 **[TEXT 5:43 PM] Seven:** Something came up. Can’t hang out tonight.

 **[TEXT 5:43 PM] Seven:** Sorry~ :(

 **[TEXT 5:44 PM] Yoosung:** Oh ummm well I’m on the bus with food now so...

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Yoosung:** can I come drop it off?

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Seven:** Um

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Yoosung:** Please spare my fridge T_T

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Seven:** Sure okay

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Seven:** Just

 **[TEXT 5:47 PM] Yoosung:** ???

 **[TEXT 5:47 PM] Seven:** I’ll be out front see you soon!

 

 

 

Sure enough when I got to his apartment, Seven was standing at the bottom of the staircase above his apartment, door shut and hands hidden behind his back. He flashed me a characteristic grin as I approached. I was holding out a ceramic dish for him.

“Hey, Yoosung,” he called. “What’d you bring me? Is it burgers?”

I laughed. “Since when do you want burgers?”

“Is it chicken nuggets? French fries?”

“No, Seven.” I stopped in front of him, holding out the dish and hoping he wouldn’t look inside. “Just take it.”

He did take it, and sure enough, he did look inside. I stared at my feet, feeling my face get hot as I awaited his judgement.

There was a scraping sound as he lifted the ceramic lid. “... Did you make kimchi?” He replaced the lid and looked up. “Getting a little fancy with your meals for me, huh?”

I shrugged. “My mom makes it a lot,” I said. “And I’ve kind of missed her lately? So I wound up making a bunch of it last night.” Lies. In honesty, I had a number of unreturned calls from my mom that I’d been too busy to get to, probably spanning back a couple of weeks.

Seven interrupted my train of thought. “Aww, poor momma’s boy. You’re cute. Well, thanks for dropping it off.”

“Wait!” I called as he began to turn around. “Don’t think you’re getting away that easily.” I gestured toward his door. “What’s going on? Why did you meet me outside?”

“Hm?” He shrugged. “No reason.”

“Seven.”

He kept this nonchalant tone in his voice, although by now, I could see right through it. “It’s hard to hear the door from my room sometimes, especially when I get too engrossed in what I’m doing.”

“ _Seven_ ,” I repeated, this time more pleadingly. “We talked about this, didn’t we?”

“I don’t....” His voice trailed off as I watched him try to calculate his response. Before he could come up with one, the door opened behind him.

Vanderwood stood there. He was notably dressed down this time, wearing only a t-shirt and black pants, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. And in his arms, he was carrying a cardboard box. Like, a big recycled cardboard box, sealed shut with duct tape, the kind you’d use when you’re moving. Though I caught only a glimpse behind him, I could see at least three more boxes inside the apartment. “Hey,” Vanderwood started immediately. “Where do I put the....”

When he saw me, his annoyed expression turned briefly into one of surprise, then quickly switched back. He turned to Seven. “So _this_ is coming out for fresh air, huh?”

Seven put on a smile for him. “Hey honey! I’ll be back inside in a minute, okay? Here.” He slid the dish of kimchi on top of the cardboard box, and Vanderwood leaned back cautiously, trying to balance it against his chest. “Take that to the fridge for me, please? I have a little business to take care of out here.”

As Vanderwood protested, Seven took me by the shoulders, flipped me around, and pushed me straight upstairs. “Back in a few minutes!” he called in a singsongy voice.

Once outside, he pushed me down the sidewalk until we were fully out of range of his apartment. Then, although the streets were fairly empty, he went further. We turned at the end of the block. He pushed me forward until he found an alleyway, then led me inside.

In the alley, he stood us on the other end of a dumpster and glanced in all directions. He checked above our heads. He checked below the dumpster. Then, once satisfied, he looked at me. “I can explain.”

“What’s Vanderwood doing in your house?” I said. “Why does it look like you’re moving? What’s going on?”

“I can explain,” he repeated. “I, um. We.... We had a little scare.”

“A scare,” I repeated. And then I could see the frantic look in Seven’s eye, the messiness of his hair. He always looked a little stressed out, but now it seemed like he’d _really_ just been through something.

He scratched his neck. “A scare.”

I swallowed. “So you’re backing up your things because...?”

“Unpacking!” he cut in apprehensively. “Packed before. Now unpacking. I’m... I’m not leaving.”

“You were leaving?!” I shouted.

“N-no, I’m....” He stopped himself, took a deep breath. “Please don’t yell,” he said.

I ignored him. “Tell me what’s going on! Why did you pack? Was this it, Seven? Did you almost just disappear today, and this is how I’m finding out about it?”

“Like I said!” He had his voice lowered to a whisper now, as though trying to offset my volume with his own. “It was a scare. I had some close calls today. I got everything sorted out, but for a second, things looked....” He shrugged. “Kinda bad.” He continued. “So we took some precautions. Packed up, just in case there was any chance I needed to get out quickly.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I stood there, arms hanging limp at my sides, eyes fixed on his face. My whole body felt numb. Like I’d just narrowly avoided a car crash.

“... But you’re safe now, right?”

He nodded. “I’m safe now. We’re unpacking again. Everything is okay, Yoosung. I promise.”

I backed up until I hit the brick wall behind me, then stood there, letting it support my weight. As much as he talked about leaving, disappearing, I’d never been faced with it so vividly. Was this almost the end of us? If he hadn’t fixed things, would I have just showed up to an empty apartment?

Seven could probably tell what I was thinking. “Hey,” he said softly. “I need you to know that I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. I never would’ve left without coming to find you first. Okay?”

My hand flung forward and clutched at the sleeve of his hoodie. I pulled him toward me, looking him in the eye. “You need to start getting honest with me,” I said. “ _Now_.”

He said nothing, his mouth opened slightly and his eyes searching my face.

I continued. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of being told that I don’t understand, or I’ll regret it, or that you’ll _think about it_.” I tugged a bit harder, pulling him in. “Start answering some of my questions, Seven, or....”

My voice trailed off, and I watched his expression change. His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows softened. It looked like he was preparing to call my bluff.

I pushed myself through the ultimatum. “Or I just can’t be your friend anymore,” I said brokenly. “I can’t.”

Seven stood up straight. He looked at me with eyes that seemed to have a hundred emotions behind them, and with a face that didn’t betray a single one. “You have to promise to stop shouting,” he said.

I nodded.

Seven walked down to the end of the alley, inspecting every corner and concealed area closely. He walked back and did the same until he got to the sidewalk. Once satisfied, Seven came back and sat down behind the dumpster, patting the spot beside him. I joined him on the ground.

So we sat side-by-side on the ground in a dirty alleyway, knees drawn up to our chests, the smell of garbage close behind us. I felt sick with nerves. My throat was clenched up. Somehow, I had this feeling like I didn’t want to ask him anything after all. I was scared, but I knew that I had to push through it.

We stayed silent for a while. I trusted him to start when he was ready. After what felt like minutes, he finally did.

“Just a couple of questions today, all right?” he said. He sounded exhausted “I... I can’t promise I’ll answer just _anything_ , but this will have to be a start.”

I nodded. “Okay.” Staring at my shoelaces, I tried to breathe deep and slow while I thought of a question. It was difficult, sitting so close to the dumpster. I had to breathe through my mouth. “Why can’t you quit hacking?”

“Not that,” he answered immediately.

“Seven....”

“Please.” His voice was sincere. “Any other question.”

As much as I wanted to press him, I didn’t want to lose this opportunity, either. So I moved on. “Who is Vanderwood?”

I listened to him sigh as he thought of how to answer. “I guess you could say I’m his client. He works for this... business. They specialize in starting people over. People like me, who work in sensitive fields and get into hot water. As long as you can pay for it, they can set you up with a whole new identity." He paused for a moment. "It’s kinda like Witness Protection for the bad guys.”

“Reset,” I said.

“Huh?”

“That day when I met Vanderwood, he said something about, um, resetting... you...?” I was still staring at my shoes, feeling dizzy in the midst of this conversation. “Is _that_ what that meant?”

Seven laughed dryly. “I swear, Vanderwood’s even more theatrical than I am. But yes, that’s his word for it. The whole starting-over process.”

“Okay.” I nodded slowly, processing this information. “Okay.” I turned to look at him now, and found that he was staring at _his_ shoes, too. “How many times have you done it, Seven? How many times have you reset?”

His face twisted, then smoothed. He looked like he was calculating in his head. “A few.”

“Come on,” I said. “That’s not just something you don’t remember. You have to know the specific number of times.”

He closed his eyes. “Six.”

“Six?!”

He grimaced. “Please don’t shout.”

I lowered my voice, but continued with the same eagerness. “Seven. You’re twenty one years old. You’ve reset _six times_ in what, _three years_?”

“I’ve been hacking since I was fifteen, Yoosung.”

“Still, that’s....” I stopped talking, already doing the math in my head. How many years was that? How many resets per year? I’d known him for well over a year already. Oh, god. Oh my god. I couldn’t handle this.

“I was a dumb kid when I first started,” he said, as though reading my mind. “I’ve gotten way more careful recently. Last time, I made it two whole years before anything went wrong.”

“Still,” I said. “Two years is _so little_. Two years is- it’s practically _nothing_.”

He started to stand up. “I think this is enough for today.”

“No!” I latched onto his pant leg. “Seven, no. Please don’t shut me out again.”

“I’m not!” he said, holding up his hands. “I promise that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then sit down.”

He shook his head. “Not today. This was enough. You need time to calm down, and I need to get back before Vanderwood totally loses it.”

I let go of his pant leg. I sat back against the dumpster. Six resets. Six resets in six years.

Seven reached down a hand for me. “Come on. Up.”

Shakily, I took it. He helped me onto my feet, and I balanced myself, holding onto his arm until I could stand on my own. I was afraid to walk, my head still swimming.

“Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Of course I wasn’t. I was less okay than I’d felt in months. But I needed to show him that I was strong, that he didn’t have to regret telling me anything. As much as this hurt, it would hurt even more to stop getting information from him. The same phrase was running through my head still. I just needed to know Seven. I just needed to know him, and everything would make sense.

So I nodded. “I’m okay. I just need a little bit to calm down.”

“Want me to walk you to your bus stop?”

“No, you go on ahead. Don’t keep Vanderwood waiting.” It took effort, but I smiled at him weakly.

He smiled in return. I wondered if mine looked as fake as his. “Text me when you get home safely.”

“Okay.”

Seven walked out of the alleyway, and with a final glance back at me, he disappeared onto the sidewalk.

On my walk home, I did more processing. Six resets, all between different identities. Different lives. He must’ve started with an original, right? His first life, with a birth name and a family and a hometown. Childhood friends, maybe? I wondered what he used to want to be when he grew up. He couldn’t have just stumbled into this kind of hacking out of interest, right?

Anyway, after that initial life, I now knew there were six resets. Bringing with them identity two, identity three, identity four, five, six, and... seven.

Seven.

I don’t know why that made me feel so sick.


	7. finally answered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a content warning for this chapter, but it's spoilers, so I'm putting it behind a link. If you think you might be upset by discussions of bad things happening to fictional characters you like, you can go here for a warning:  
> http://tinyurl.com/jchsy4m

I just wanted to know Seven.

I’d learned some important things already. Seven had been hacking since he was fifteen. In that time, he’d been through six different identities, and he was currently on his seventh. His neighbor, Vanderwood, helped him acquire these identities in exchange for, I’m assuming, a whole lot of money.

He owned four sports cars and some robotic pets with AI. The pets had weird names, and he didn’t like to talk about them. He was apparently Catholic.

Seven liked video games. He liked driving, but otherwise he hated going outside. He liked junk food, but he liked my cooking, too. He liked to hang out with me, play games with me, tease me, and kiss me.

Seven was a kind person with a big heart. I really believed that. He kept secrets, though. I didn’t know where he came from or how he grew up. I didn’t know why he couldn’t quit hacking, or how he got into it in the first place. I didn’t know what he was protecting me from. Also, though his teasing was often romantically-charged, I didn’t know whether he actually saw me as more than a friend, the way that I saw him. I still couldn’t always tell when he was lying.

I thought that if I knew these things, I would understand him. The parts of him that still felt like a barrier or a caricature would melt away, and I would see the true face of this man I cared so much for. I could finally see his true feelings and vulnerabilities. And if I knew those, I’d be able to tell what he really wanted. I could help him have a better life. I was so sure of it.

Seven was finally opening up to me. Whether out of guilt or trust, I wasn’t sure. But his guard was still up, and I needed to be smart with what I chose to ask.

The next time I came to his house, there was a mouse in his kitchen. It was plastic and running on wheels. Shaped kind of like a computer mouse, adorned with ears and whiskers like a real one. If it weren’t wheeling around on its own without bumping into walls, you could mistake it for some crude toy you get in a Happy Meal. It looped in a figure-eight motion around my feet before disappearing into his pantry. Seven took another swig of his soda, pretending we hadn’t just seen it.

So I thought, sure. Let’s get to the bottom of this robot mystery.

 

* * *

 

The light coming in through his bedroom window was grim and gray. It made everything in his room look colorless, almost hazy. I was sitting on the edge of his mattress. Seven sat at his computer desk, his chair facing toward me, with the monitor off. I could hear the hum and occasional clicks of his computer tower, always on even when he wasn’t working. He was holding a bottle of soda in his hand, fiddling with the cap while he stared at the floor.

“Seven?” I said. “Why can’t you quit hacking?”

A pained expression crossing his face, Seven shook his head. “Not that, Yoosung. Anything else.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.” I’d seen it coming, but I had to at least try. So I fell back to my real plan. “Tell me about the robots.”

Seven picked at the cap of his soda with an index finger. A steady _tip_... _tip_... _tip_... _tip_.... I tried to count them out until he started talking. “There’s not much to tell. They’re really not that big a deal in all this.”

“That’s fine. I want to know anyway.”

 _Tip_... _tip_.... He sighed softly. “Ask away, I guess.”

I hadn’t prepared any specific questions, but the first one came to mind immediately. “How many of them do you have?”

 _Tip_... _tip_... _tip_.... “Six.”

I felt my mouth curve into a smile on impulse and felt glad that he wasn’t looking my way. It’s not that I was _happy_. It was just this automatic, excited response that came from having a suspicion potentially confirmed. I straightened my expression and continued. “Is that a coincidence?”

He shook his head. “No.”

 _Tip_... _tip_... _tip_... _tip_... _tip_....

“One for each reset.”

He nodded.

“Named after... people?”

He nodded again.

 _Tip_... _tip_....

“Tell me about them.”

Seven finally looked at me. He stopped picking at the bottle, now holding it in both hands. I watched the molded plastic warp slightly under his grip. He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell.”

“How about the cat?” I said. “That’s the first one I, uh, met. Who was that?”

He sighed. “It’s really not important, Yoosung. I don’t know why you’re so fixated on it.”

“I want to know,” I said. “Just a little bit? You don’t have to share anything that makes you uncomfortable.” I couldn’t explain any better. I just needed to know. I wanted to hear most about one in particular, but each one was sure to tell me something interesting. Was it so wrong to be curious about who these people were?

“The cat’s name is Jumin,” he said. “Named for my property manager, from after reset number four.”

“Your fifth identity?” I clarified.

Seven nodded.

“Does that mean you built that robot fifth, too?”

“... Yeah.”

I paused and stared at the floor, trying to commit this all to memory. I wished I could write it down. Seven hadn’t moved a muscle when I looked back up again. “So,” I said, “he must’ve been important to you.”

He shrugged. “Not much competition that time around.”

“Oh.”

This look crossed his face that was like... guilt? Then he continued. “But yeah, I liked him. I told him when I moved in that I worked with computers, so he just had me over all the time to set up his electronics. Always way overpaid me for really basic tasks, like setting up his sound system. Weird guy.”

“Huh.” I blinked, trying to think of how to respond. “And he’s a cat because...?”

“Oh, he loved cats. Like, a ridiculous amount. Had a really cute one that he was super protective of.”

Seven stopped talking, but the wistful look in his face lingered. I wondered how he really felt about this person, what sort of relationship they really had. But there were five other robots to get through, so I moved on.

“How about number six,” I said. “Which one is that?”

He closed his eyes. “We really have to go through every one of them?”

“Just share what you’re comfortable with,” I repeated. “It would mean a lot.”

Seven pointed toward his dresser, at the foot-tall robot panda that sat on top. “That one’s the sixth. She, uh.... She just went by M.C.” He swallowed, his expression still calm. “She and I had sort of a fling, I guess.”

I felt my face get hot. My stomach flipped. Through context, I could recognize this feeling as jealousy. Though I wanted to keep pressing, to hear everything about this girl and what she meant to him, the distressed feeling in my gut convinced me to move on. “Okay,” I said. “How about number four?”

“The parrot.”

“Jaehee,” I recalled.

He nodded. “Uh. She owned this coffee shop below my apartment back then. Kinda bristly at first, but she started leaving me things—leftover pastries, fruit, things like that—when she realized how bad my diet was. I liked her.”

“Were you friends?” I asked.

“Not exactly.” Seven scratched his neck, then put his hand back on the soda bottle, still gripping it tightly. “She was just nice to me.”

“Ah.” We were getting closer to my goal, and my legs were trembling. I pressed forward. “Number three?”

“The dog. Zen. Uh, that was a stage name. He was an actor, and he lived next door to me.”

Seven seemed to have calmed down. His answers were coming more easily. Still, I didn’t want to press too hard. “Was _he_ your friend?”

He looked up to the ceiling as he formulated his answer. “I guess? I got closer to people more easily, back then. Sorta went out of my way to befriend him.” Seven laughed humorlessly. “To be honest, at first I just thought he was really pretty. But he wound up being a nice guy.”

That red-faced, twisted up feeling again. I wondered, did he like Zen in _that_ way? Did he want something physical with him, the way he did with me? How many of these people were just former love interests? I knew I’d go crazy about it later. For now, I moved on. “Number two?”

Seven gave me an easygoing smile. “I told you these aren’t very interesting. Don’t you want to talk about something else?”

“Who was number two, Seven?”

His face dropped. I watched him sit still, staring at me, for a long time. I wasn’t sure whether he was going to answer until seconds had passed and he started talking again. “The turtle robot. He went by V. Also not his real name. Helped me get set up, the first time I reset. I was young, and he was sort of....” He shrugged. “We were close, for a couple of years.”

I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat. Something about his tone of voice made V sound significant. As much as I wanted to move on, to ask the question I’d really been waiting for, it felt appropriate to pause here. “Was he like... a mentor, then?”

Seven’s eyes narrowed as he thought of an answer. “Not exactly that,” he said. “I just owed a lot to him.”

He looked away, and I knew that was all I was getting out of him. It took effort to get my knees to stop bouncing as I approached this last one.

I inhaled slowly, then spoke. “So that leaves the mouse. Who were they?”

Seven’s mouth twitched, but otherwise, he didn’t acknowledge my question.

“Who were they, Seven?”

He stood up and moved over to his dresser, his back turned away from me. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“It must’ve been someone from your first life. Your original life.” I didn’t know why I was pushing him so hard. I just needed him to crack. I needed to see something from him that was real, feel something real. I needed to know who was underneath all of... this. “Who was it?”

He was suddenly very invested in one of the anime figurines sitting on his dresser. Seven twisted its arm around with his index finger.

“Was it a childhood friend?”

“Please,” he said.

“A family member?”

The twisting motion stopped. He stood frozen, his finger still touching the figurine.

I inhaled, holding in my breath and feeling full with this sense of discovery. “So it was a family member.”

“Yoosung....”

“Your mom or dad? A sibling?”

“It was my twin brother,” he said. His voice sounded hollow.

I exhaled.

Seven had a twin brother. I don’t know what I was expecting. Knowing he had a sibling at all... it shouldn’t have be surprising. I just wasn’t prepared for the reality of it, somehow. Knowing that there was this real person out there with this unbreakable connection to him, who probably didn’t even know where he was. Someone who’d always known him. Probably looked like him. Probably missed him every day.

I felt sick with regret. As Seven stood there, motionless, I clenched my fists into the stomach of my t-shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Seven.” My voice trembled. “I’m sorry. Leaving him behind must’ve been so hard.”

He shook his head.

“It... wasn’t hard?”

“I didn’t leave him.” He dropped his arms to his sides. “He died.”

  
  
  


He was walking past me. He flopped down onto his bed, and I couldn’t fully register the way my body bounced when his mattress moved. My vision felt blurry and white, my gut twisted with guilt. My knuckles, still wrapped into my t-shirt, felt cold.

Seven said something.

“What?” I had turned around to look at him.

His face was barely lifted from his pillow. “Please leave.”

And so I think I just left.

 

* * *

 

It took a while after that for my emotions to catch up with me. I was lying in bed that night, holding my aching stomach. My throat was tense, and I felt this urge to cry, but somehow I just couldn’t. I thought about turning off my light, knowing that the emotions might come more easily after I slept. But my legs felt weak. The light switch at my door seemed like it was a mile away.

So I lied there and stared at my texting history with Seven. I’d sent one the second I got home: “I’m sorry.” No response yet, of course. I couldn’t expect that from him. I’d just been drafting second texts, over and over. Each one came out wrong. Either they sounded insensitive, or too much like excuses, or too much like I was prying. What else was there to say?

I typed something. Deleted it. Tried again. Deleted. Typed something again.

My phone rang.

My body sprang to attention, already hoping for the best. But the caller ID read “Dad.” My heart sank, until I realized how out of the ordinary this was. My dad rarely called me. Usually I communicated with my mom, and she’d put him on the phone when he wanted to chat. I hit the Talk button and drew the phone to my ear.

“Dad?”

“Yoosung! How are you doing? Are you free to talk?”

He sounded oddly casual, or at least like he was trying to be. I sat up in bed. “Yeah, Dad, I’m free. What’s going on?”

“Well, we were just wondering whether you’d be getting time off from school anytime soon. Or if not, whether there’s any chance you could take a couple days off to come home.”

My thoughts were racing. Was there a birthday approaching? Some family get-together? “I.... Maybe? Is something going on?”

I heard him shuffle a bit on the other line. “Your mother and I really miss you. She was hoping you might find time to come visit her sometime soon.”

What...? I frowned. “Mom said that? Is something wrong, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine now,” he answered too quickly. “To be honest... she spent a bit of time this month in and out of the hospital, but we’re confident everything’s cleared up.”

“What?! Dad-”

“Like I said, things are fine now. But it would mean a lot if you could find the time to visit anyway.”

For the first time that night, I felt tears in my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to stay calm. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I had no idea this was even happening.”

“We did try, Yoosung,” he said. “She said she was calling you for over a month, but you never answered your phone. Your sister told us she kept seeing you post on the Internet, so we assumed you were just busy with school. Eventually your mother stopped calling you entirely. She didn’t want worry to distract you from your classes, but....” His voice got lower, but louder, as though he was leaning into the phone so keep out of someone’s earshot. “Frankly, I know she really wants to see you. If there’s any chance you can take time off, now would be the time to do it.”

I held the lower half of the phone away from my face as I sniffled and rubbed my eyes. How did I let this happen? I knew I’d ignored some calls, but only when I was in class, in a raid, or....

With Seven.

The rest of the time, I was usually with Seven. Almost every hour not spent working, gaming, or sleeping was with him. Sitting with him in our secret little isolated world, where answering your damn phone was an act of treason. When was the last time I’d spent an afternoon on my own? When was the last time I’d visited any other friend?

How did I let things get this way? I wished someone were there to hit me.

“Yoosung? Are you all right?”

I sniffed through my nose one last time before speaking into the receiver again. “Yeah, Dad, I’m okay. Look, I’m going to figure out my schedule and find out the next best time to skip some classes, okay? I’ll come visit as soon as I can. I promise.”

“Thank you.” His voice was warm, but his gratitude made me feel even guiltier. “You know that will mean the world to us both.”

I took a deep breath. “I have to go now, but tell Mom I said I love her, okay?”

“Of course. I’m sure you’re busy, so I’ll let you go. I love you, son.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

I hung up the phone and cried.


	8. ends with a fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a small chapter that I had to scrap and restart three times. I... hope it reads better in one go, when everything is finished, than I think it does currently.
> 
> If this fic were broken up into a Part One and Part Two, this chapter would be the end of Part One! There's still lots to go, but the second half is going to feel pretty different. Also, after the comments I got on the last chapter, I feel inclined to reassure everyone that this story definitely won't be angsty forever. Sorry it's such a bummer right now. ;_;
> 
> The title of this chapter comes from It Ends With A Fall by Okkervil River, which tbh is your recommended listening for once you finish.

“Make sure you read through to chapter eleven.” Professor Song spoke quickly as I fumbled with my notebook, trying to find a blank page to jot down his instructions. He paused for me, but only until the tip of my pencil led hit paper. “Normally I’d hate for a student to miss lecture, but the book should cover most of what’s important. Also, I won’t be be checking it, but I strongly encourage you to complete the end-of-chapter exercises. On Friday I’ll be discussing the details of your upcoming paper, so you should get a friend to email you their notes.” With that, he picked up his folder from the podium. “That should be all. I wish you and your family the best.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” I said. Offering only a curt nod, he left.

That was it. With Professor Song’s “approval,” I’d gotten clearance on my five-day vacation from each of my instructors. I checked the conversation off of my mental to-do list, something I’d been clinging to all day. I was trying my best to stay busy, knowing that holding still would give me time to worry. The events of the previous day felt like a fresh wound. Worrying would only make things worse.

So now I had consent to take time off. All that was left was to tie up a few loose ends, pack my things, and catch the earliest train home the next morning.

The first of those loose ends was finding someone to give me their notes on Friday. I glanced toward the end of the lecture hall, relieved to see that Yejun, Minkyu, and Jihoon were still trailing behind as usual, sitting with their backpacks on their desks, probably arguing over where to study. I held my notebook against my chest and raced toward them.

“Hey guys! Could I get a small....”

The look they gave me caught me off-guard. All three had basically the same expression. It wasn’t exactly _mad_ , just... surprised, first of all. And slightly annoyed, as though I’d just interrupted some important conversation. Their eyes locked on me and didn’t move as my pace slowed down to a halt. Clutching the notebook tighter, I stood under those glares and realized all at once that things had changed.

I started over. “Hey.” Their expressions had me panicking. The words slipped out automatically- “My mom is sick.”

Minkyu’s confrontational gaze held strong, but Yejun and Jihoon relaxed a bit under new looks of concern. “Oh, dude,” Jihoon said. “I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“Y-yeah,” I said. “Uh. I’m going home for a few days, and I guess we’re getting instructions for our essays on Friday. Could one of you send me your notes?”

Jihoon nodded. “Sure thing, Yoosung.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

We held still. Seconds passed, and my window to walk away from this conversation, leave it like a dog-eared book for later, quickly disappeared. I opened my mouth, trying to think of the correct thing to say. Minkyu and Jihoon exchanged a “look” with one another that felt like a jab in the gut.

“I guess it’s been a little while,” I said uncomfortably.

Off on the wrong foot. None of them looked exactly pleased with that statement, and Minkyu in particular shot me an incredulous glare that felt like an attack in itself. But his response was fairly neutral. “I guess.”

Another shovelful of guilt added to my mansion-sized pile. Unable to make excuses, I answered honestly. “I’ve been with Seven. He... he’s really needed me.”

Three blank stares. “Okay,” Yejun said.

I finally looked away, sheepishly glancing at the floor. “I’ll, uh, talk to you guys later,” I said, and headed for the door without another word. Thankfully, they didn’t call after me.

 

* * *

 

When I got back to my room, I dropped my bag onto the floor without turning on the lights, crawled onto my bed, and called Seven. Guilt had trailed me home and made its nest in my gut. I didn’t think as I scrolled through my contacts and found his number. I drew my knees up to my stomach and listened to the phone ring until he answered.

“Yoosung?”

“H- hey,” I said, tugging on my comforter with my fingers. “Are you free right now?”

“Yeah.” I heard a creaking noise on the other end of the line (his computer chair?), and he continued. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Oh, I’m.... It’s not anything urgent, I just....” I shrugged out of impulse. “I miss you.”

He didn’t respond.

“And some of my friends are being... weird. I think they’re really mad at me. And....” I glanced at the suitcase sitting on my rug, wide open and half-packed. I frowned. “And I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Seven sounded hesitant.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just thought it might help to talk to you. Sorry, it's stupid....”

“That’s....” He sighed softly, his voice full of concern. When he continued, Seven said each word gently. “Yoosung, we agreed this morning that we should stop talking for a couple of days. I thought.... I’m not going to shut you out, but are you sure you want to... disregard that?”

I lied still in bed, suddenly aware of how small I felt. With the lights off, the evening sunlight outside cast long shadows against the walls of my room. I was so alone, my twin-sized mattress felt enormous, like it could bend at the middle and swallow me. His voice over the phone sounded miles away. And it was, wasn’t it?

“I didn’t have anyone else to call,” I said.

“What about your friends? You said you’d been keeping in touch.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek, the guilt in my stomach only getting heavier, tugging at the place below my ribs. My body was shivering slightly.

“Yoosung?”

“I’m sorry that I pushed so hard, Seven. That I made you talk about your brother.”

“That’s....” His voice sounded shaky. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t bring it up now, I _shouldn’t_ , I know. I’m just so _scared_.”

“Scared?”

I held my bedspread in my fist, slowly pulling it by the corner toward me. As I spoke, I rolled over, cocooning myself in the blanket and facing the wall. The shivering continued. “I tried so hard to get you to open up to me. I pushed the wrong place, and I’m scared that you don’t trust me anymore. I’m so scared you’re going to close off again.”

He responded in a tired whisper. “Yoosung, maybe you should sleep.”

“ _Please_.” I suddenly felt a building nausea in my chest. “Please don’t cut me off again.”

“Is... is there anyone else you can call? I’m not sure if I’m... if _we’re_ ready to talk again.”

“I can’t stop thinking about the robots,” I said.

I heard the creaking sound of his computer chair again.

“They were all people who were important to you, right?” I paused to let him answer, but he didn’t. “They were people you got close to? Or is it something else?” He still didn’t answer. “Were they people who helped you? Were they people you hurt?”

“God, of course not...,” he sighed.

“Am I the next one?”

I pulled the comforter closer against my body, a sickness untangling itself in my chest. It felt like the blanket, wrapped tight around my torso, was holding me together. I listened closely for an answer.

“I’m the next one, aren’t I?”

I couldn’t even hear his breathing on the other end. I was half-expecting a dial tone to start at any second, but I pushed through, hoping desperately he was still there to hear this.

“I can’t shake this feeling that I am. And that means maybe you’re already thinking about it. Like, imagining what kind of animal you’ll make.”

Still no answer.

“Does that mean you are?” I was speaking through a sore, clenched throat. “Does that... does it mean this will all happen again? Someday you let someone get close to you. And he’ll ask about this- this puppy or this rabbit or something, sitting on your shelf. And you’ll say ‘Oh that’s Yoosung, he was this college student I used to play games with,’ and that’ll be it.”

I could hear his now, but not his voice or his breath. He was _typing_.

“Answer me!” I shut my eyes tight. All I could feel was the blanket around my body, all I could hear was him typing and ignoring me. “Tell me it’s not true, Seven. Please.” I pulled my knees close against my chest. “Or, I don’t even care if it’s true. Just tell me that’s not how you think of me. Tell me I mean more to you than that.”

A slight pause, and then the typing continued.

I opened my eyes, and everything looked more dim. I curled my toes into the blanket and pulled them in for warmth. “Why won't you argue with me?” I said. “You really want me to think that? That you called me your best friend, and the whole time I was just... disposable. All the meals we had together, all the times you kissed me, you were already thinking about how I’d be replaced.”

No answer.

“Please say it’s not true.”

More typing. I swallowed hard.

“You had to know I was falling in love with you, right?”

I heard shuffling sounds, and a beep, and it was clear that he’d hung up the phone. I didn’t move. I kept listening until the dial tone started.

When I finally hung up, I felt mostly numb. I couldn’t feel angry, because I was overwhelmed with the sense that something much bigger had gone wrong. My head was swimming. I wanted to run to his house and make him talk to me. I wanted to call him back and apologize. I wanted to text him more questions. Instead, I rolled over and stared at the suitcase sitting in the center of my living room.

For five days I would be gone. Five days to get out of this room, out of this town, and distract myself with other things. Maybe I would know what to do by the end. Maybe some of this would start making sense.

So I went on vacation. I didn’t contact Seven. And for five days, Seven didn’t call me, either.


	9. a break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof I thought this one would be a slog to write, but I wound up having a lot of fun. Even though it's a really long and really different sort of chapter, full of non-canon characters (Deadly Fanfiction Sins), I hope it's enjoyable and effective in its own way. I like it!
> 
> As a side note, I feel weird making Rika actually dead in this fic even though it's really the most practical approach to maintaining Yoosung's canon characterization.... It just feels cheap to kill off another character just for plot reasons? So if you want to believe that Rika faked her death and is out somewhere in this universe running a cult or maybe getting professional psychiatric help and living a happier life, you are totally free to believe that lmao. I'll say it's equally likely to be canon.
> 
> (CW In case it's not clear, this chapter addresses death a little bit.)

I woke up to the smell of something delicious. Struck by the unfamiliar awakening, I opened my eyes and immediately remembered where I was. My childhood bedroom.... It looked emptier than it did in my high school days, the computer desk bare and most of my decorations taken away, but it was still mostly intact. I rolled onto my back, realizing how much more comfortable this bed was than the stiff mattress that came with my campus apartment. It sort of made me want to lie around all day. The bed, plus the depressed feeling in my chest.

I’d woken up miserable. I couldn’t remember what I dreamed about, but it was probably him. Why else would I feel this tiny sting of heartbreak so early in the morning? I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. This was supposed to be my _vacation_. My time to clear my head. Instead, I couldn’t even escape thoughts of him in my sleep.

After a few minutes, I forced myself out of bed and unzipped my suitcase, finding a nice outfit for the day. Something cute to make me feel a little less gross. Layering a button-down with a t-shirt always made me feel more put-together. Also, a glance in the mirror showed that my hair hadn’t gotten too messed up in my sleep, so that was good. By the time I was ready for the day and heading toward the kitchen, I already felt a bit better.

I turned the corner to see who was awake and cooking already.

“Mom!” I said. “What are you doing?”

She turned from the stove, holding a dripping wooden spoon over a steaming pot. “I’m making breakfast. What does it look like?”

Racing forward, I took the spoon from her hand and assumed her place at the stove. “Shouldn’t you be resting? What are you even making...?”

“It’s soup for my children,” she said indignantly, though she crossed her arms and made no attempt to take the spoon back. “Am I not allowed to cook anymore?”

I smiled at her weakly. “That’s not what I said, Mom.... But you shouldn’t exert yourself, right?”

As I stirred the pot of soup and checked the temperature of the stove, I listened to her pull out a chair and take a seat at the kitchen table behind me. “I think your father gave you the wrong impression,” she said. “My health is getting better. The doctors didn’t just let me go home, they _encouraged_ it. They said it’s important for me to stay active.”

“Sorry...,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply you can’t do it or anything. But since I’m here anyway, I really want you to take a break, you know? Just for a few days.”

“You’ve become so kind, Yoosung.” Her voice behind me was sounding slower, more wistful. “I always said that, no matter how old my children got, I’d always let them be my _children_ again when they come home to visit. I’d cook and take care of you, and just let you relax for a while. But look, you’re only twenty years old and already trying to take care of me.”

I blushed slightly at the sincerity of her compliment, but it made me feel a little sad, too. Hearing my mom talk so earnestly like that felt... odd. It stressed how much our relationship had changed in my absence. Was she opening up to me because I was older? Or did the illness make her more reflective like this? I tried not to fixate on it. “You just deserve a break,” I said.

About ten minutes later my older sister, Meena, came downstairs, still wearing her pajamas. “Yoosung’s cooking!” she remarked, as though it were an outrageous development.

“So what...?”

She took a seat at the table. “So it’s surprising? I don’t know. I thought you hated it.”

“I _like_ cooking now,” I said. “I cook most of my own meals at school.”

“Yoosung is all grown up,” my mom said in a voice that sounded only slightly sarcastic.

“I’m actually impressed,” Meena said. “It took me until my senior year of college to start learning. Now most of the recipes I know are really basic.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I guess that’s most of what I cook, too. A lot of pasta and, um, omelettes, and....” I thought about brunch and the ceramic dish that I used to bring him leftovers in. “Seven and I make omelettes together a lot,” I said.

“Oh, you’re still friends with that boy,” my mom said, deliberately neglecting to say his bizarre name. “That’s good. Do you still play that video game together?”

“Yes, Mom.” I tried to remember the last time we played LOLOL. Thinking about Seven hurt. Talking about him hurt, too, but there was an impulse to spill all the thoughts that came into my head anyway, as though someone around me would spontaneously manage to give me the advice I hoped for. “We study a lot together, too, though. Well, I study, and he does other work. Sometimes he helps me with the subjects I’m stuck on.” I swallowed, realizing my voice was trembling as I talked about this.

“That’s good,” my mom said. “How about your other friends?”

“They’re fine.” I shrugged. “I know a lot of people, I guess. But I’m only really close with Seven.”

“That’s pretty normal,” my sister chimed in. “Sometimes it takes a couple years of college before you meet the people you really click with.”

“Hmm.” I turned off the stove, determining that the soup was finished. “This is done,” I said. “Do you both want some?”

Once I’d served everyone, I sat down and joined them in conversation. They caught up on my life—I stuck to talking about my progress in school, though I had to awkwardly navigate a couple of questions about dating—and I caught up on their lives. Meena’s job search was still going poorly, and she expected to be staying with our parents for at least a few more months. My mom was getting more involved in local service organizations again. I listened, admittedly only half interested, and tried to keep my thoughts from wandering. It was still difficult. I wondered whether these five days would really take my mind off of things at all.

Toward the end of our meal, Meena’s tone changed. She asked seriously, and a bit hesitantly, “Hey Yoosung? Did you have any plans for today?”

I shook my head. “No plans at all. Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d want to go on a walk with me. It’s been awhile since I visited Rika, and I know it’s been a long time for you, too.”

“Oh.” I put my spoon down in my nearly-empty bowl. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

“Great.” She smiled. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

 

* * *

 

We left around noon, bundled up in coats and scarves to combat the early winter cold. Meena and I took the long route to the cemetery. Rather than cut through side streets and deserted roads, we lengthened our trip by passing through the center of town. Even in the year and a half since I’d been gone for college, a surprising amount had changed. I kept seeing tiny shops and restaurants from before, either closed or transformed into something entirely different.

It felt so _quiet_ here. There was something weird about being back in my hometown, knowing that most of my old friends and classmates were far away, studying elsewhere. It was a bit lonely, but mostly peaceful.

In the distance, I spotted a familiar building. My sister must have noticed me staring at it. “That’s the arcade you used to go to with your friends, right?”

“Yeah....”

“I remember you used to complain _so much_ when you got close to exams and had to stop going.” She laughed.

I thought about the idea of going to an arcade with Seven. If it weren’t for his anxiety about being in public, I imagined that he would’ve liked it. We would’ve made a great team. Instead I said, “It feels like so long ago.”

 

* * *

 

I had to admit that the cemetery was pretty. There were no trees, and the grass was well-maintained, so everything looked bright and green and peaceful. Rika’s grave was located at the bottom of a hill, where the sun always shone on it until mid-afternoon. Meena and I stood at the foot of it, gazing at the marble headstone with nothing to say.

Standing here didn’t make me feel overwhelmed the way it used to. I guess my mourning had become more abstract than that. I missed her in unexpected moments, like after getting a good grade and realizing I couldn’t celebrate with her, or when reading a line in a book that she would’ve liked to hear.

At the foot of her grave, I didn’t feel the sick twist of grief the way I did before. I used the moment instead to... remember her, I guess. It was nice and sad and private and I don’t want to recount it all. I want to leave the things I felt and thought in that moment.

But I’ll mention a less private thought, one that stuck in my head for days after that. I wondered how different it must feel to lose different sorts of people. When she was alive, Rika was the person I was closest to. But still, there must be such a huge difference between losing a cousin and losing a parent. Or a sibling. Or a twin. I decided that I wasn’t really equipped to speculate. I could only imagine a fraction of the experience, but... that was probably enough, right? Enough to know that it’s hard. Enough to change the way I treated certain people in my life.

 

* * *

 

That was Wednesday.

The following day, Thursday, was spent helping my mom around the house and making kimchi until my dad got home from work. After that, we all went out to dinner together. I felt pretty anxious whenever I wasn’t distracted by a task or a conversation, but as long as I kept busy, my thoughts stayed away from Seven.

I spent most of Friday trying to get homework done. I spread out my work at the coffee table and tried to focus while my sister sat beside me on the couch, playing around on her laptop. Once I was tired of reading, she turned on the TV and we watched movies together. In the afternoon Jihoon emailed me the notes I missed from class. He added, at the end of the email, that he hoped my vacation was going well and that my mom was feeling okay. I closed my eyes, feeling some combination of embarrassment and relief, and decided to email him back later.

I went grocery shopping with my mom on Saturday, and afterwards she took me to a clothing store to buy me a new coat. I told her that I didn’t need a coat, but she kept insisting that mine was falling apart. So I caved in. I let her buy it for me, and I barely even thought about whether Seven would like how I looked in it. At home she microwaved leftovers for dinner, and I emailed Jihoon back, finally apologizing for ditching everyone and asking if we could spend time together again soon. After dinner I went upstairs for bed, discovering that he’d already responded with an invitation to hang out the next weekend.

On Sunday morning I woke up and went downstairs to find that everyone else was sleeping in. Still feeling groggy, I sat on the couch and opened the blinds, letting cool morning light draw me awake. I pulled a textbook out of my bag to get some reading finished before my family woke up.

The last few days had been relatively calm, but my fears were bubbling up again. I was heading back to campus the next morning, and once I arrived home, I had to decide what to do about Seven. The vacation had been relatively distracting, nearly as much as I’d hoped it would be. Still, I kept jumping for my phone each time it buzzed, hoping for a text or call or email from him. He’d been completely silent, and with each day, that became way scarier. Now, I was tapping my fingers against the open page of my textbook, feeling this static energy in my arms and legs while anxiety tried to take over my thoughts.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Meena entered the room, once again still in her pajamas, and gave me a sleepy smile. “Morning. Doing homework already?”

I nodded. “Trying to....”

Meena flopped down at the other end of the couch, reclining with limp arms spread out on either side of her. After a moment of stillness, she sighed dramatically. “You go _home_ tomorrow.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Will you miss me?”

Meena sneered. “No.” She paused for a beat, then smiled. “Yes, dummy. Of course I will.”

I smiled back. “I’ll miss you, too....”

For a moment, she let the silence between us linger. Then she took in a sharp breath and tried to sound casual. “Hey Yoosung? You kinda fell off the face of the earth for a little while there.”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I wasn’t really answering my phone.”

“Or your texts,” she added. “Mom said she texted you, like, every other day, and you barely responded. Was something going on? Or was it just one of those... college student, too busy to live scenarios?”

I laughed dryly, fiddling with the corner of the page of my textbook. “I guess a little of both.”

I didn’t look up from the pages below my fingers, but at the corner of my vision I could see her turned to me, staring. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I answered immediately, feeling my muscles tense up. Then a pause. “Yes.” I sighed. “I just don’t know where to....”

“Is it about Seven?” she guessed. I glanced up instantly, and she grinned at my reaction, though a bit pityingly. “You keep talking about him. Seemed like you wanted someone to ask.”

I opened my mouth to say something like _Yeah, I guess_. But instead I said, “Seven is so weird. Things with Seven are _so weird_. Like three months ago everything between us was fine and normal and now they’re just... weird.”

“Weird how?”

The words careened out of me. “His job is illegal. I can’t say what it is, but he’s breaking the law. Um.” I ran a hand through my hair, tried hard to think as I fixed my eyes on an image inside my textbook, some bar graph for a subject I don’t remember. I continued. “There are things about his job and his life that he refuses to tell me, even though I’m the only person he’s close to. It freaks me out. And I just found out that his brother died? And he has these _robots_ that are, like....”

“Robots?” She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m not making sense,” I admitted. My heart was pounding as I tried to put my thoughts into words for the first time. “I’m sorry.”

Meena spoke slowly and empathetically. “Well, the stuff about his job sounds really stressful. Is that the main problem?”

“No,” I said. “No, there’s something... something I’m leaving out.” What was it? Not the kissing, or the romantic feelings, or anything like that. “Everything just got so crazy for some reason.”

“Take your time....” I’m sure I was making no sense. I could hear uncertainty in her voice as she tried to think of the right response.

I stared at the bar graph in my textbook. Searched it with my eyes, over and over. I watched how the hot pink rectangles representing quantities of data engraved themselves in my vision. They stayed in my sight every time I blinked. The longer I stared, the less they meant anything. I was glaring hard, barely blinking, and the clean lines on the page seemed to distort before my eyes. It’s like they were shimmering. I glanced away, stared at a wall and blinked a few times, and then looked back.

“It’s his _apartment_ ,” I said. I kept blinking, staring at that graph. “Meena. He never _leaves_.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning more comfortably against the couch. “So what, he’s like, a shut in?”

“I think he buys most of his food from the convenience store. It’s a block away.” I swallowed. “He told me he hates going out.”

“Okay,” she said evenly. “And why is that so especially important?”

“I’ve been going to his house more. Most days of the week, recently. It’s tiny, and we always do the same things, and we treat each other like....” I shook my head. “I was trying so hard to get him to open up to me. It was starting to work, but I pushed him in ways that.... Oh, my _god_.” I remembered the conversation about the robots. I remembered our phone call, the way he’d practically begged me to hang up the phone. “It was so gross. I’ve never acted like that. How did I let my head get like that?”

“Sounds scary.” It was clear that she was a bit lost, but even in the moment, I felt grateful to her for trying her best.

“He’s my best friend,” I said. “I hate that his job makes him do illegal things. I hate that it’s going to take him away from me someday. I tried to get him to open up to me, but in the process, I just got so deep into his... isolated life and I lost sight of _everything_. All those weeks, I didn’t realize I was missing all those calls. I didn’t realize I was pushing so hard until... I guess we had a fight?”

“Yoosung,” she said. “That sounds really, really unhealthy.”

I laughed. I drew up my knees, smashing the open book against my chest, put my forehead down and felt laughter bubble out of my throat. It was a painful sort of laughing. “Yeah,” I said, beginning to calm down. “It sucked.”

She shifted her weight awkwardly. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”

Taking a slow breath, I looked up at her. She was sitting straight, watching me with concern in her eyes. “The day before I came here,” I said.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.”

Meena frowned. “What are you going to do?”

I looked up at the ceiling. “What am I supposed to do? I wanted to get him to open up to me, but I feel like maybe I got as close as I’m going to get. I think I _ruined_ things.”

She scooted forward and put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Whatever you do, you can’t let yourself get so lost for this guy again, okay? Don’t let yourself disappear like that.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I really can’t go back to that, _ugh_.”

She moved her hand, letting her fingers rest for just a second on my collarbone before pulling it away. Meena sighed. “This might be hard to hear, but if he’s really not willing to talk to you, then at a certain point, maybe it’s time to stop trying. That effort goes both ways, right?”

I hated to hear that. “I got so close, though.” I was staring to the side, at our blank TV. “He really was trying. He promised, and he was following through, until....”

“Until you got all... stir crazy?”

Stir crazy. Something about the phrase flipped a switch. Eyes wide, I turned to her. “Meena. I lost my mind going to his house, like, four nights a _week_. Seven lives that every single _day_.”

Meena opened her mouth, then closed it again. Sensing my change in attitude, she smiled weakly. “You’re going to keep trying, aren’t you?”

I put my cheek down on my knee. “I have to at least try. Not the way I did before. But it tears me apart to think of him like that. I need to try, Meena.”

It was the truth. I didn’t know how yet, or for how long, but for him, I needed to try. I thought of the Seven who I trusted from the start. The friend who always went out of his way to make me smile. Who always sincerely cared that I was doing well. Who prioritized my safety and my comfort, even if I didn’t always agree with how he did it. Seven wasn’t a perfect friend, but neither was I. Still, he was my best friend, and a good person who gave up on happiness at fifteen, maybe even younger. He needed someone. If I was the only person who could save him, then I couldn’t quit so easily.

Meena nodded. “You’re a good friend, Yoosung. Please don’t let him take advantage of that.”

I sat up and gave her the most genuine smile I could manage. “Thank you for talking to me.”

She rubbed her neck, laughing nervously. “I’m not sure how much I actually helped, but I’m glad you could vent to me. Seems like that’s been, uh, bottled up for a little while. Call me if you need to talk about this, all right?”

I let out a breath, feeling a wave of tension leave my body. I inhaled, then exhaled, embracing a new calm and a new determination. I was sure that I’d experience a new anxiety, too, as the day wore on. But for the moment, I felt refreshed.

As I calmed myself down, Meena said something about breakfast, putting her feet down and beginning to stand. Before she could lift off of the couch, I made a split second decision. “Meena? One other thing.”

She sat back down and looked at me. “What’s up?”

I stared at my knees. “One last thing. Seven and I, we uh.... We kissed. We used to. Um, frequently.”

There was a long pause. “Oh.”

“I don’t....” I ducked my head, scratching the back of my neck. “I'm not trying to date him or anything. I mean... I don't want to date him nearly as much as I just want him to be okay. I'm just, uh, telling you that part because....”

“Is this your way of coming out to me?” I wasn’t looking at her, but I thought I heard a smile in her voice.

I grimaced. “Yeah, I guess.” My voice was trembling. “Surprise?”

Meena immediately had her arms around my neck, wrapping me in a tight hug. It was awkward and slightly painful, with my knees still drawn against my chest, but probably the most comforting hug I’d ever gotten anyway. She spoke softly. "Awww, little brother. I love you sooo much. I'm proud of you, okay?"

I rested my chin on her shoulder. “Thanks, Meena.”

“And Mom and Dad will be, too. Just so you know.”

I cringed. “Please don’t tell them.”

She laughed. “No, you’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night, I finished packing and went downstairs to find my mom in the living room, watching TV in her recliner with a blanket draped over her legs. I poked my head around the corner, observing the screen. “Is this a movie?”

“A TV show,” she said. “One of my favorites.”

I watched for a few seconds. It was live action, some comedy by the looks of it. I crossed the living room, taking a seat at the end of the couch closest to my mom’s chair. My dad was out with some friends, and my sister was up in her room, so the house was quiet aside from the dialogue and the background music coming from the television. I brought my legs up and rested against the arm of the couch.

“Can you turn it up?” My mom took the TV remote from the arm of her recliner, pressing the button to raise the volume a few notches. “Thank you,” I said.

Although I’d never seen the show, the plot wasn’t hard to pick up. The characters were all roommates, and the conflicts centered around mistakes and miscommunications. Standard sitcom material. Still, I always laughed at this sort of thing, and so did she. I put a throw pillow under my head and got comfortable.

It must’ve been a DVD or something, because after the episode ended, another one started immediately. I don’t know how long we watched, but we got through enough episodes that I managed to learn every character’s name and find out which ones my mom liked and disliked. I enjoyed hearing her thoughts about them, even though I could’ve predicted most of her opinions.

Maybe it was the orange lighting of our table lamps, or the warmth of the living room, but I started getting so sleepy. I kept yawning, stretching out, expecting to doze off. But I never did. Instead, I just felt relaxed and full and warm. I didn’t want to think about going home in the morning. I’d spent my entire vacation eager to get back, to sort through the problems in my life. And then there I was, the night before I caught the train home, wishing for another five days with my family.

It always works like that, doesn’t it?


	10. visitation

I’d been standing in front of his door for three minutes.

As soon as my train arrived, I came here. I probably could’ve made my 3 o’clock lecture if I’d rushed. But... I dropped my bags in my room and came here. I didn’t text. I didn’t call. I wouldn’t tip him off, give him the opportunity to knowingly ignore me. I stood in front of his door and sucked in a sharp breath.

This was big, wasn’t it? This interaction could decide everything.

I readjusted my feet and stood tall, refusing to let myself dwell on it. Visiting a friend. This was visiting a friend. Halfway believing that for just a moment, I reached out and knocked on the door.

Silence.

I knocked again, louder this time.

Slowly, deliberately, I counted seconds waiting for an answer. Still, nothing happened. Did he know it was me? I took another deep breath, trying not to indulge myself on panic. I knocked a third time, and I waited.

After counting to fifty in my head and getting no response, I let myself start to panic.

“Seven?” I called. I knocked again. “Seven, it’s me. Can we talk?”

Still nothing.

“Seven.” Pressing my forehead against the door, pushing it with my fingertips, I spoke slowly. My voice echoed in the tiny stairwell. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been a good friend. It’s fine if you’re mad, but I just want to know you’re okay.”

I pressed my ear against the door, hearing nothing. No TV, no footsteps, no typing, nothing. He was ignoring me. He was just ignoring me. Or not home? He only liked driving at night, but maybe he was out buying groceries. I kept thinking that, over and over, refusing to let myself jump to worse conclusions.

“If you don’t want to see me, that’s fine.” My throat felt all tense. “You can send me a blank text for all I care. Please just show me you’re okay in there?” I knocked again, fist pounding rapidly against the door, more to release the static tension in my arm than anything else. “I don’t.... I’m trying not to intrude. Just a text, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I thought about backing away from the door. I could take a seat in the stairwell and wait in case he showed up from the other direction. But I didn’t want to move, take my ear away from the door for even a second in case he made a sound. I’d only been gone for five days, but so much could happen in that time. Problems with his job. Problems... that I never wanted to think about again.

For only a second, I remembered the day of my high school graduation.

I banged on the door, calling louder. “Seven! Please listen.” The tension in my throat got thicker, and tears were forming in my eyes. “I’m sorry about everything. You don’t have to forgive me, but I forgive you, okay? I don’t want you to feel bad about anything. I just want you to be okay.”

I pressed harder against the door.

“Please be okay,” I whispered. “Please be okay. Please be okay.” I pounded the heel of my hand on the door. “Seven!”

Somewhere above me, a window opened. “Hey, kid!”

I pulled myself away from the door, rubbing unshed tears from my eyes before glancing up. Vanderwood was hanging out the window, his hair pushed over one shoulder, though loose strands still hung in his face as he glared down at me. “Stop banging on the goddamn door.”

“ _Where’s Seven?_ ” The words came out more forcefully than I’d expected. “Do you know if he’s here?”

It was difficult to make out Vanderwood’s expression, but for a moment, he looked... hesitant. He lowered his voice so I could barely hear it. “He’ll be back tomorrow. In the meantime, you should leave.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he’d already ducked back into the window, slamming it behind him.

My mouth hung open. “ _What?_ ”

I bolted up the staircase, landing out on the sidewalk, and backed up to get a clearer view of his window. “Hey!” I shouted with my hands cupped around my mouth. “What do you mean tomorrow? Where did Seven go?”

He didn’t respond, but I wasn’t about to stop now. I stood there in the sidewalk, pedestrians ducking around me as I shouted up to his window. “V-Vanderwood! I’m not leaving until you talk to me!”

The window opened with a slam, but Vanderwood didn’t lean out this time. He stayed inside at the corner of the window, a single gloved hand partially shielding his face, and called down. “You’re a stubborn brat, you know that?”

“Where is Seven?” I repeated.

Vanderwood pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated groan. “Stop yelling. I’ll be right down.” He slammed the window shut.

I glanced around to see that a few people had stopped on either side of me, gawking at our interaction. Feeling my face get hot, I crossed my arms against my chest and moved to the side of the sidewalk. The viewers slowly moved on, and I gazed at my feet while waiting for Vanderwood.

My mind must have gone to a million different places while I waited. Where was Seven? I knew he sometimes did legwork for his hacker stuff, but that was usually in desperate circumstances. Still... was he out breaking into someone’s office right now, or something? Or maybe he just went on a trip. Maybe there were people he still kept in touch with. Or maybe....

I thought about my trip home and wondered whether Seven could be doing something similar. Was his brother resting somewhere? Did he ever go to visit, like I visited Rika?

“Hey.”

I glanced over to see Vanderwood peering out a door halfway down the block. Seven’s door let out straight at the sidewalk, but the upper apartments must’ve connected to hallways inside. Looking Vanderwood eye-to-eye like this, I felt my confidence shrink. There was nothing particularly imposing about the guy, his stature pretty small and androgynous. He just had this look that said something like, “I only just saw you and I’m annoyed enough to string you up on the roof like Christmas lights.” Like a feral cat.

He gestured toward me. “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

I awkwardly followed him inside with my arms still hugging against my chest.

Walking into the lobby of the apartment complex, I realized that he wasn’t much taller than me. That felt wrong, somehow. I stared at the back of his head as we moved through the hallways, up a flight of stairs, and toward his apartment.

I swallowed hard. “Where is Sev-”

“Shhhhh.” He cut me off instantly. We didn’t say anything else until we were at his door, and he led me inside.

I don’t know what I was expecting Vanderwood’s apartment to look like. It was surprising and predictable at the same time. The whole place looked as much like a magazine cover as its owner, stylish if you forget what decade it is. It was all whites and violets and plush carpet and wood furniture that completely matched. Also, spotless, as though no one actually lived in it. And he had little green potted house plants everywhere, on windowsills, tabletops, hanging from the ceiling....

It sort of looked like a grandma’s house.

“Sit,” he said, motioning to a seat at the kitchen table in the back of the room, in front of a window. Pulling out the chair and sitting down, I half expected him to offer me tea and cookies.

Instead, he stood directly across from me, not bothering to sit. “Let’s get a couple of things straight, first of all,” he said with that bored but firm expression.

“Where is S-”

“Hush.” Vanderwood crossed his arms. “Listen. You know the nature of what he does, right?”

I nodded. I almost felt glad that Vanderwood was standing. It felt appropriate for him to tower over me.... It sort of matched how it felt to interact with him.

“Then you know that his work is sensitive.” He glared. “So you should also know that he and I avoid raising as many red flags as possible.”

Biting the inside of my mouth, I sank into my chair.

“When some guy comes around and starts banging on his door and yelling things about his safety, that tends to count as a red flag. So if you want your boyfriend to stay safe, you’ll knock it off next time, got it?” Before I could respond, he continued, putting his hands on the table to lean in closer. “And by the way? I’m not sure how much he’s told you, but if _you_ want to stay safe, you will never. Breathe a word of it. To anyone.”

Vanderwood held eye contact with me for a long time. I tried to keep my expression even, staring straight back without a word. Under the table, my nails were digging into my thighs. Finally Vanderwood glanced away, and I spoke.

“Where’s Seven?”

He sighed. “You’re a broken record. What are you, stupid?”

I frowned. “I want to know where my friend is. I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Vanderwood ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, then crossed his arms. He stared at the ceiling, not making eye contact as he spoke in an unsteadier tone. “Don’t... freak out, got it?”

I bolted upright. “Why would I freak out? What’s going on?”

“God....” He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “It’s _fine_ , I mean.... Well, it’s not exactly _fine_ , but....”

“ _What’s_ not fine?”

Vanderwood continued avoiding eye contact, looking out the window as he held his arms firmly against his chest.

“Where’s Seven?” I said slowly. “Where is he?”

Vanderwood shrugged. “... Jail?”

I jumped to my feet, ignoring my chair as it knocked to the ground behind me. “What do you mean, jail?” I shouted, already feeling like I was about to cry. “What happened?”

“Listen!” Vanderwood held up his hands. “God, will you shut your mouth for a second? Like I said, your boyfriend is fine.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I stopped myself instead, letting him continue.

“He knew they were coming before they even got here,” Vanderwood explained. “He fucked up pretty bad, but the good news is, there’s no reliable evidence against him. The kid wiped everything that could’ve been incriminating. He’s a professional, he’s prepared for scenarios like this.”

I rested my hands on the table, suddenly feeling dizzy. I shook my head and tried to comprehend what Vanderwood was saying. “So he’s in jail for...?”

“Suspicion, basically. But they can’t keep him for more than twenty four hours without evidence. He’ll probably be out in the morning.”

“But that means....” I blinked a few times, then shook my head. One step at a time. I looked up at Vanderwood, who had relaxed somewhat with the heaviest news out of the way. “What the hell happened?” I said. “He’s always so careful. How could he wind up in prison?”

“Jail,” Vanderwood corrected. “Not prison. And to your question of what happened, I honestly figured that _you_ would know.”

“Me...?”

He rolled his eyes. “This whole thing happened because he wasn’t keeping up with his work. When I went to check in on him, it looked like he’d barely left his bed for a week.”

Suddenly I had to sit down. I put a hand behind me as I lowered myself, nearly dropping to the floor before I remembered the chair was still on its side. With shaking arms, I lifted it, then rested myself on the seat slowly.

I felt like there was a rock in my gut.

“Strike a nerve?” Vanderwood guessed. “So it _was_ a lover’s quarrel, huh? This is why I tell him not to get involved with people. Thought he’d learned better after the last one.”

My head was buzzing, but those words got through to me just enough to warrant a flat response. “Last one...?”

He waved a hand, dismissing my question. “Anyway, I’ve told you what I know. You should leave.”

“Wait,” I said. “Can I call him in jail? Can I visit him?”

“He’ll be out _in the morning_ ,” Vanderwood repeated. “Don’t get more involved than you need to be. Red flags, remember?”

Instead of responding, I put my elbows on the table, resting my eyes against the palms of my hands.

“Hey,” Vanderwood said. “Kid. It’s time to go.”

I sank lower. I didn’t care what he did to me. This was too much.

“Hey. Don’t make me get my taser.”

He didn’t get it. Instead, he snatched the back of my hoodie, dragging me out of the chair and toward the door. I didn’t fight with him. I let him throw me out into the hall and listened to the door slam behind me. Then I took out my phone, finding the address for the county jail.

 

* * *

 

The lobby in jail was brown and depressing, but I didn’t mind. Waiting rooms at scary places like that usually try to overcompensate to make people feel relaxed. They’ll put a zen garden outside of your therapist’s office or colorful posters outside of the dentist. But the waiting room in jail was like: “We admit it. This place sucks, and it sucks that you’re here.” It was weirdly consoling.

When I approached reception, the older woman at the desk barely looked up at me. “How can I help you?”

I stiffened up and tried to sound natural. Luckily, my natural attitude in this situation would still be completely terrified. “I’m, uh, h-here to visit someone,” I said.

“Visitation hours end in twenty minutes,” she said flatly.

“Th-that’s fine. Um, if I still can.”

She nodded curtly. “Who are you here to see?”

My mouth fell open. I totally blanked. Oh, crap, what was his legal name? I’d seen his ID before (we laughed at his dumb expression together), but I didn’t bother to memorize it. Something really generic....

“Sungmin, uh....” I wracked my brain for a last name. Maybe I could guess? It wasn’t my surname, so the next most likely would be.... “Lee.”

She typed something into her computer, then squinted, shaking her head. “I’m not seeing....”

“Oh, sorry. I-it’s Park. Sungmin Park.”

She typed something else. “Ah. Checked in this morning?”

“Yes!” I said, a bit too excitedly. “Yes. That’s him.”

“Mm-hm. Are you on the visitation list?”

I panicked. “Visitation list?”

“He would’ve given a few names when he checked in. Do you know if you’re on there?”

“Yes.” I answered so automatically, I even surprised myself.

She glanced up at me, raising an eyebrow. “And your name is...?”

I clenched the hem of my t-shirt in my hands. “Yoosung Kim.”

The receptionist stared at the computer, then at me. Her eyebrows furrowed, and for a second, I was prepared to fall apart with nerves and disappointment. Then, she smiled. “Yup, you’re here. Can I see your ID?"

It took a second to overcome my disbelief and fish the wallet out of my pocket. Opening it with trembling fingers, I flipped through until I could find my ID and hand it to her.

She nodded, then gave it back. "Stand over there for just a moment, Mr. Kim, and I’ll call someone to lead you back.”

I nodded shakily, thanked her, and stepped away from the desk. My legs were quaking so hard, I thought they might collapse. As I waited for my escort, I tried to catch my breath, but it was difficult.

I really couldn’t believe that had worked.

 

* * *

 

The escort, a tall and overbearing man in a uniform, led me back through blank concrete halls until we reached a large door. He opened it, and I felt like I was being led into a scene from a movie. There was a full wall of those visitation booth things, with the phones and the thick glass partitions. This was so surreal. About half of the booths were occupied, but the escort led me toward an empty one toward the end of the row.

I took a seat in the uncomfortable round stool on my end of the booth. The escort told me that the inmate would be arriving shortly and reminded me that we may be recorded before stepping away. I sighed. Noting a sign that told me to keep my hands visible, I rested my palms on the tabletop in front of me, then sat still and waited for Seven to arrive. Again, I tried to take calming breaths. Soon I’d get to see Seven. And regardless of the circumstances, he usually had a way of making me feel relaxed. I’d probably feel better just sitting across from him, hearing his voice.

And then they brought him in, and I changed my mind.

He was wearing a gray jumpsuit. I didn’t realize he’d need to change out of his regular clothes, only being there for a day. It made his skin look pale and sick and it made everything so much scarier, so much more real. My hands on the smooth tabletop were clenching into fists. Seven didn’t look at me until he’d sat down, and even with his sad eyes gazing into mine, I couldn’t get a clear read on his expression. He picked up the phone on his end first, and I followed.

“Seven,” I said.

“Yoosung.” He blinked hard, like maybe he might cry. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” I said. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. Vanderwood told me what happened. If I hadn’t upset you, this wouldn’t-”

“Shhhhh.” He said it softly, but gave me a pointed look that reminded me that we were possibly being recorded. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not mad at you.”

I shook my head. “I’m not mad, either.”

We sat in silence for a moment. I stared through the glass partition at his left hand resting on the desk, fingers curled under. Looking at it, I squeezed my own palm into a fist, feeling tense with the desire to reach through the glass and hold his hand. I wondered if it was cold. It looked colder on his side of the glass.

“I didn’t know,” he said suddenly.

I looked up. “Huh?”

“Th... the thing you said, before I hung up on you.” His eyes were downcast, and for a second I thought he might’ve been looking at my hand, too. “I didn’t know.”

“That I....” I swallowed heavy. “That I’m in love with you.”

His mouth stretched into a grimace, and he closed his eyes. “I really don’t deserve your forgiveness. If I knew, I never would’ve let this happen.”

“Let what happen?”

“All the things we did together.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ. I told myself I’d never do that to someone again.”

I frowned. “Let someone fall in love with you?”

He continued without answering. “I’m really an idiot. I should’ve realized, when you kept asking for things.... I just, I didn’t think you wanted.... I thought you genuinely were just waiting for a girlfriend, and I took advantage, and-”

“No!” I shook my head. “Seven, don’t feel guilty about that. I asked for those things because I wanted them. I was the dishonest one.”

“But I should’ve known. I should’ve realized-”

“Stop,” I said. “If you’re going to be mad, then be mad at me for basically lying to you. Don’t be mad at yourself for giving me things that I asked for, that I _wanted_ from you.”

He stopped talking, but he didn’t look any less upset. He had his forehead resting in his hand, and he stared up at me through pained eyes. Seven sighed heavily. “We really should’ve stayed just regular friends.”

I laughed involuntarily, short and abrupt and completely humorless.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s funny?”

“It’s just....” I shrugged. “You say that, Seven, but were we ever really just friends?”

His mouth hung open. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Even before everything,” I said. “Even before we kissed. We were always different, weren’t we? I know it was a joke, when you used to say I was like your girlfriend.” I paused, biting my lip. “But it was also true, wasn’t it.”

“That’s....” His eyes were wide. He looked terrified.

“Anyway, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m not sad that I fell in love with you. That’s honestly, like, the least of my worries right now.”

He didn’t say anything. I sat there and stared at him, and I realized how gray he looked through the inch of thick glass between us. Even those piercing eyes looked dull. Even that red hair. I sat still and counted my breaths, waiting for him to speak again first. I’ll admit that I knew what I wanted him to say. Even if it was pointless and irrelevant, given the situation. I really just wanted to hear it. Just once, I wanted to know for sure.

But he didn’t say it. Instead he said, “I’m appearing before a judge tomorrow morning. Should get out around ten.”

I nodded. “And then....” I inhaled sharply. “You have to go?”

“Yeah.” I heard him take in a quivering breath, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded almost like a scared child. “Will you come see me?”

“Of course,” I said. In truth, the inch of glass between us was driving me crazy. I wanted to see him for real, in vibrant color, one last time. I wanted a lot of things. “Should I meet you here?”

“At my apartment,” he said. “Save yourself the trip.”

I nodded again. “Okay.”

A guard behind me announced that we had three minutes left to finish our visitations. There was a lot that I could’ve said in three minutes, and probably things that he could’ve said, too. But I think that both of us wanted to wait until the phones were gone, the guards, the sheet of hazy glass. So we sat there and looked at each other silently until our time was up. Three minutes passed quickly, staring into his eyes.

I started to stand up, getting ready to be ushered outside. “See you tomorrow,” I said.

He forced a smile that I mirrored involuntarily. “See you tomorrow, Yoosung.”

 

* * *

 

At home I was crying in bed. I didn’t realize until I walked through the door that I hadn’t cried in earnest all day, but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I was a sobbing, blubbering mess. I cried so hard that at times it felt hard to breathe. I worried that my neighbors would knock on my door. Instead of holding back, I pressed my face into a pillow and sobbed for hours, stopping only now and then to take out my phone and torture myself with a picture of Seven or one of his old texts.

Even given the circumstances, it was pretty pathetic.

Around sundown I lifted my face from the pillow and rubbed my eyes. I glanced at my phone to find that it was flashing, alerting me to a new text I’d missed. After wiping snot on my sleeve, I reached over and flipped it open.

 **[TEXT 5:45 PM] Meena:** How did things go with Seven?

I groaned and flipped the phone shut instantly. It took all of my willpower to remind myself that I wasn’t isolating myself anymore and open it up again. With weak fingers, I typed back a quick response.

 **[TEXT 6:07 PM] Yoosung:** shitty

Her responses were almost immediate.

 **[TEXT 6:07 PM] Meena:** Yoosung. :( I’m so sorry.

 **[TEXT 6:07 PM] Meena:** Call me if you want to talk about it, OK?

 **[TEXT 6:08 PM] Meena:** And remember that this isn’t giving up. You can’t help someone who won’t help themselves.

Her assumptions weren’t quite right, but that last text gave me pause anyway. Was I giving up? Well, I’d pretty much resigned myself to the idea that Seven would be leaving in the morning.

Why?

Before coming home, I promised myself that I’d do anything I could to help him, as long as I didn’t lose myself again. I couldn’t stand to see him alone. I couldn’t stand that he’d given up on happiness, on any hope of having a long, happy, peaceful life. Now I was prepared to let him go, to what? Another basement apartment, another two years of his awful job, and another best friend to keep at arm’s length?

I sat up abruptly, filled with a renewed motivation. I took the time to type out a quick reply to Meena. It couldn’t explain anything, but it was better than nothing.

 **[TEXT 6:10 PM] Yoosung:** Thanks  <3

I tossed away my phone and started planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea where to find thorough information on how South Korean jails function, so everything I wrote is based on research of American jails. Forgive me for stretching some credibility (I mean it's Mystic Messenger fic so I think I can get away with a LOT).
> 
> I wish I could've connected Seven's fake legal name to something in canon somehow, but I'm sure he'd stay far away from "Saeyoung Choi," and a legal name like Seven or Luciel would only draw too much attention. Generic Korean Name it is... lol.


	11. this thing together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little longer than normal, sorry about that! School's back and I'm super busy and also the first seven pages were a slog to write, oof.... Next chapter might also take a bit because I'm trying to get a Yooran one shot done in time for Valentines. But then I hope to be in the clear? Good scenes coming up!

My alarm went off at 7:30 AM the next morning, but I was already up and dressed and browsing through the Internet to distract myself. Getting an early start was good, but I figured leaving _too_ early would only cause problems. I silenced my alarm on its first buzz and headed for the kitchen.

For breakfast, I heated up some fried rice from the night before and ate it straight from the takeout box while fixing lunch. I made sandwiches: simple, portable, and they could sit in my backpack all day without getting too nasty. I threw a half-empty bag of chips in my bag, too, and a couple of water bottles.

At 8:10 I caught the bus a block from my apartment and headed for Seven’s place. It was an earlier bus than the one I usually rode, and every seat was taken by other students and workers. I stood in the back, clinging to a handrail and hoping the effort it took to stand in the moving vehicle would work some of the anxious tension out of my legs.

When I got to Seven’s place, I stood at the end of the block and tried to look natural, which was hard, because I felt like a huge weirdo. I took out my phone and probably played a hundred distracted rounds of Snake. A man with a cane walked past me, headed in the direction of the apartment, then a teenage boy. I glanced back at my phone and decided to wait longer.

Eventually a family passed by—an older woman holding grocery bags, with two small children trailing behind her. I don’t know why, but I decided to place my bets on them. I put my phone away as they passed, waited until they were halfway down the block, and then I followed after them, digging around in my hoodie pocket for my keys. By some miracle the family stopped in front of the door into the apartment complex, and the woman pulled a keycard out of her purse. I held my keys in my hands. The kids were saying something about a videogame they wanted to play. When the woman spotted me coming, I jogged forward, and she held the door open for me with a smile. I grinned back, hoping I looked nowhere near as nervous as I felt.

Listening to the kids’ chattering voices grow quieter behind me, I headed upstairs. Luckily I could still remember directions from the day before.

That’s how I wound up in front of Vanderwood’s apartment.

I didn’t have the time to nervously stall on this one. Clutching my backpack strap in one hand, I pounded on the door. The knob was jiggling only seconds later.

Vanderwood clearly wasn’t the type to sleep in. He was already up and dressed and as thoroughly annoyed as I’d ever seen him. The moment he saw me, he was already rubbing a hand between his eyes. He didn’t even speak. He just waited for what I had to say.

So I said, “I need to get into Seven’s apartment.”

“Why.” It was a dry question, like he was struggling to even entertain the thought.

I swallowed hard. “He wants me to pick him up, and he asked me to bring some things.” I paused, then added. “Oh, um, I went to visit him yesterday.”

“Of course you did,” he mumbled. And then he started closing the door.

“Wait!” I pressed myself against the door with my full body weight, which was barely enough to keep him from pushing it shut. “Please, Seven said you could help. He _sent_ me.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was strained. “If he wanted something, he would call _me_ for it.”

“Well he didn’t,” I said, struggling against the door as my feet slid backwards. “He asked me to help, and y... you have to let me in!”

As my body thrust backwards following one final shove, the door slammed shut. I pounded on it again. The sound echoed through the hallway. I’d gone through this plan so many times in my head, it felt like my body was pulling through on its own, driven forward to the next step through inertia or something. Maybe adrenaline. My heart was pounding.

Moments later, Vanderwood opened the door with something in his hand. It took me half a second to register the fact that it was a taser. I think my vision felt blurry.

“I will use this,” he said.

I took half a step backwards, thinking about running out the building and figuring out a Plan B. Then I paused. A moment of clarity in a mess of paranoia.

“Do it.”

Vanderwood blinked, his face registering a hint of confusion.

I continued. “Use th-that. Go ahead. Tase the... twenty-year-old outside your apartment. Tell me that won’t raise any red flags.” I inhaled sharply, thinking of something to add. “Or slam the door on my face again, and let me keep banging on your door until someone calls th-the cops, or your landlord, or something.”

I hoped I sounded half as brave as I felt. In retrospect, it wasn’t the most clever response, but I was in awe just hearing myself speak to him that way. Yoosung Kim, I thought, was not the type of person to negotiate with a weapon drawn on him. Love makes people really brave, I guess. Or really, really stupid.

Vanderwood rolled his eyes, but then his gaze honed in on me, completely serious. “You realize you’re not the only one of us capable of blackmail, right? I don’t know how much your boyfriend has told you about me, but I’ll let you in on something.” He took a quick glance up and down the hall, then lowered his voice. “I can make him disappear. I control where he goes next, now that he's fucked up his chance to stay here. And if you two make my job more difficult than it needs to be, I can make sure that his next home is somewhere truly awful. In fact, I'm starting to think he deserves that."

I blinked, registering his response. He was lowering the taser as he spoke, which I took as a partial success. “Okay,” I said, my mind racing to think of a solution. “Okay. So we both have blackmail against one another then.” I forced myself to look him in the eye. As menacing as his expression was, it’s not like he could actually hurt me, right? “So... we’ll make a deal.”

He frowned. “I’m listening.”

That answer surprised me. “You let me into Seven’s apartment. You can watch me the whole time. Y-you’ll see that I’m not taking anything weird. Um. And then in exchange for that, you’ll never see me around here again. I won’t cause you trouble anymore. And if I break that promise....” I took in a deep breath. “If I break that promise, you can sent Seven to th... the worst place you can think of. T-torture me with that fact.” It felt wrong to negotiate with Seven's well being like that. But I never intended to break our deal, so if this was all that I had, then I had to use it.

“I’m not getting much out of this,” he said. “I can send him wherever I want regardless. Torturing you is none of my concern.”

“I know,” I said. “That's what you have against me. What _I'm_ offering is just... the promise that everything will stay quiet.”

Vanderwood stood still for a long time, maintaining eye contact. I realized that these stare-downs were a common tactic of his. Probably trying to make me lose my nerve. And it really was intimidating, but I was past the point of backing down.

“I’m giving you ten minutes in there,” he said, taking a pair of boots out from behind the door and sliding them on. Vanderwood stood up, flipping his hair over his shoulder, and opened the door to follow me into the hall.

“Leave the taser.” It was a frightened plea that thankfully sounded more like a command outloud.

He sighed. “Fine.” Vanderwood reached behind the door, and I listened to him drop the taser on a table somewhere in the entryway. When he drew out his hands, he held them up to prove that it was gone, then followed me into the hall.

I wasn’t sure whether to walk ahead of him or behind him, so I stayed by his side as we walked out of the apartment building. His strides were much longer than mine even though he wasn’t much taller, I wound up having to jog slightly to keep up. I wondered if this was an intimidation tactic, too.

I was forced to move behind him so we could fit out the front door, and then I followed him the rest of the way down the sidewalk, down the stairs, and to the front door of Seven’s apartment. Vanderwood took a ring of keys of his pocket. Although there were about four nearly identical ones on the same ring, he seemed to find the correct one easily and unlock the door. After turning the knob, he turned to look at me.

“Ten minutes,” he said, then pushed it open.

I nodded.

I went to Seven’s bedroom first. Most everything I needed was in there. As I walked across the living room and down his short hallway, I listened to Vanderwood follow a few paces behind me. I tried to ignore him and focus on what I needed to do.

First, I checked the ceramic dish on his dresser. Beside two bottlecaps and a USB drive, he had a set of spare keys, each with the logo of a different expensive car brand. I pocketed them.

Vanderwood remaining at the doorway, I moved to Seven’s desk. While his monitor was still there, I noticed that his computer tower had been taken out from under the desk, and got a chilled feeling thinking about it. I wondered if they’d taken his other computers and laptops, too. Probably, right? For evidence. I pushed the thought out of my mind and moved to his closet.

I’d always known that Seven didn’t own much clothing, but given what I’d learned in the past couple weeks, that thought struck me especially hard. In his closet I found a few shirts, a winter coat, and a couple of pairs of jeans folded over hangers. A lineup you could probably lift up and throw in a suitcase within seconds. Though Vanderwood was over my shoulder tapping his watch, I took the time to pick out one of Seven’s nicer, warmer shirts, and his least worn-out pair of pants. I grabbed his winter coat, too, then shoveled them all into my bag, careful not to crush the sandwiches.

Then I went for the bathroom on the other end of the hall. Would he have been able to shower overnight in jail? Brush his teeth? I figured he wouldn’t have gotten deodorant. I grabbed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant and put them in the front pocket of my backpack.

I jumped when Vanderwood spoke for the first time since we’d entered the house. “You two planning to run away together?” I couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. He just sounded bored.

“No.” I looked at myself in his bathroom mirror. Was it possible that I looked different than I did a few days ago? My roots were starting to grow out, at least. “We might be out for a little while, though.”

That was most of what I needed, but I figured ten minutes had to be far from up, so I headed for the kitchen. He probably had a couple liters of soda in the fridge, and I was sure he’d want them. Vanderwood followed behind as I stepped onto the tile kitchen floor.

A small whirring sound off to one side made me freeze. At the corner of my eye, I caught sight of something moving and turned to watch Seven’s mouse doing figure-eight loops around the legs of a chair in the corner. I followed it with my eyes, holding my breath.

It seemed like all the mouse could do was move around.... It was really just a toy, wasn’t it? Something created by an inexperienced child, nothing like the parrot or the cat or any of his other, more intelligent robots. What was it there for, other than to burst out of the pantry every now and drive around? Thinking about it made me sad.

The mouse finished its loops and shot across the kitchen, toward the pantry, before twisting back around and heading to me. I lifted one foot, afraid it would crash into me, but then it... stopped. Just a few inches in front of where I was standing. It stopped right there, facing toward me. I crouched down slowly, as though any sudden movements might scare it away.

Its little wire whiskers had tiny kinks in them, where they’d been bent or crashed into something. I remember noticing that.

I’m not sure what compelled me to reach down and pick it up, but before I knew it, I was cradling the little toy in my hands. It was just smaller than a computer mouse and surprisingly heavy. I felt its little rubber wheels on the palms of my hands, half-expecting them to start turning. But it stayed completely still.

I bent down and kissed the mouse between its ears. It felt like a promise.

When I placed it back on the floor, the mouse backed up slowly before shooting away again, headed for the pantry. For a while I stayed there, crouched on the floor, staring after it.

Then I remembered that Vanderwood was standing behind me. “What was that?” he said, unable to hide the interest in his voice.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

There was nothing in Seven’s fridge, which shouldn’t have surprised me. I closed the door and ignored the increasingly sick feeling in my stomach. “I’m done here,” I said, and headed for front door with Vanderwood trailing behind me.

 

* * *

 

Vanderwood swiped me into the garage, but after that, we didn’t really say anything. He asked me if that was all I needed, and I nodded, and then we sort of held eye contact for a second and he walked away. There was an unspoken understanding there. Maybe even an unspoken respect? I guess it didn't matter. After all, I was never going to see him again.

Seven’s four cars were all lined up in the back of the garage. I’d never seen them all at once in person, and it was kind of surreal. They completely stood out. Not only by being obviously the most fancy and expensive cars in the lot, but also because they were so _clean_. The bodies looked freshly-painted, shiny, and spotless. Even the tire tread on all but one car appeared almost fresh.

I was beginning to doubt Seven’s story about purchasing these cars with lottery winnings, but I decided that it wasn't the most important question to focus on. I picked the car furthest on the left, a dark blue one that seemed like it had been driven the most. After finding the correct key, I climbed into the driver’s side, throwing my bag into the backseat.

Once inside, I spent a moment taking in the car’s impressive leather interior. Seven treated his cars _nothing_ like he treated his house. It was in perfect condition. He’d left nothing behind here except for a keychain hanging from his front mirror. (The charm on the keychain was a cartoon version of Longcat. I smiled involuntarily when I saw it.)

I checked my phone for the time, finding that it was almost 9 AM. That gave me plenty of time to stall if I wanted to, but instead I reached for the keys and pushed the correct one into the ignition. The longer I stalled, the more I’d want to lose my nerve. “Right foot gas pedal,” I whispered. “Left foot breaks.” I reached for the gear shift. “This is park... so I’ll put it in reverse, and then....”

Taking a deep breath, I started the car. I could do this. It would be fine.

And it _was_ fine. The trip out of the garage was clumsy, and I drove slightly too slow, but I didn’t hit anything. Not bad at all for my fourth time driving a car.

 

* * *

 

I had about forty minutes to spare in the jail parking lot, and they passed surprisingly quickly. I got out of the car a couple of times to jump up and down, trying to work out my nerves the way I did before a difficult raid in LOLOL. It was more embarrassing, being outside the privacy of my room, but whatever. Mostly I sat in the driver’s seat and browsed social media, glancing at the doors every thirty seconds for signs of Seven.

Finally at 10:03 I caught sight of his red hair and striped glasses. Seven was walking out the front door of the jail in his street clothes, browsing through his phone, looking tired but more or less normal. I wished that seeing him, safely released and on time, had given me any sense of relief. Instead I was experiencing a more pressing set of anxieties. This was crazy, wasn’t it? He was going to freak out when he saw me. I stole his _car_. I wondered if he’d pass by without noticing, giving me time to maybe drive myself off a cliff and destroy the evidence of this stupid, stupid idea.

Then he spotted me. I don’t know what kind of expression he made, because the second I caught his eye, I ducked my head to stare at the steering wheel. Seconds later, he was knocking on the window. Taking a calming breath, I rolled it down and forced myself to look him in the eye.

“Yoosung,” he said. His eyebrows were scrunched up. I couldn’t tell whether he was more angry or terrified. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I came to pick you up,” I said.

“In my.... _How_ did you get my....” He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Yoosung, what the fuck did you _do_.”

“Nothing dangerous!” I insisted. “It’s all okay, Seven. I got the spare keys from your apartment. Please, try to calm down.”

Surprisingly, he seemed to do what I asked. Seven dropped his hands to his side and bent down to see me more clearly through the car window. He looked exhausted. “What were you thinking?” It sounded more desperate than angry.

This is the part I’d been scripting in my head since the night before. “This could be the last day I ever get to see you,” I said. “There’s something that I really want, and I’ve already arranged everything so that you don’t have to worry.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

I looked Seven in the eye. When I spoke, I tried to sound confident, even though I felt like a lunatic. “Come to the beach with me?"

His expression didn't change.

"Just a little trip. I packed food and brought you warmer clothes. We can be back in a few hours.” I could feel myself on the verge of tears, but I tried to hold them back. I didn’t want to guilt him into this. I wanted him to want it as much as I did.

Seven's eyes narrowed. “And what happens if I say no?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “I’ll drive you home and we can forget about it. I’m not going to force you. I’m....” I ran a hand through my hair, casting my eyes downward so he wouldn’t see the glimmer of tears in my eyes. “I just want to take you somewhere pretty. Just one time, before you have to go.”

Seven was quiet for a long time. I couldn’t handle it. I reached for the bag in the backseat and brought it into my lap. I didn’t open it as I described what was inside. “I thought you might want a change of clothes, since you were probably wearing those ones yesterday. I brought that, and your coat, like I said. I made sandwiches for us. I couldn’t remember whether you liked tuna or ham better, so I made some of each. And I-”

Seven opened the car door and climbed inside. I watched him shut the door behind him, then linger with his hand on the seatbelt strap. “Uh,” he started. “Should I drive, or do you want to?”

A giant smile spread across my face. “Wait, you’ll really...?”

Seven shrugged. Then, he offered me a smile—weak and forced, but I could tell he was trying his best. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t go on one spontaneous road trip with you?”

That’s when I started crying for real. “Th-thank you...,” I said through choked sobs. “Thank you s... so much, Seven. I promise you’ll have fun.”

“Hey...,” he said softly. “Nothing to cry over. Save that for when we break down or run out of snacks or something.”

I laughed, but the tears didn’t let up. I sniffled and tried to take some deep breaths. “J-just... just give me a second, okay?”

“All right. No rush.” Seven turned on the radio and twisted the volume knob until it was almost silent. He flipped through channels until he seemed satisfied with whatever song was barely audible through the speakers. When I’d mostly calmed down, he spoke again. “So does this mean you want to drive? Because I’m gonna need to hear your credentials if I’m putting my baby in your hands.”

“Your ba....” I decided to ignore it. “No, no,” I said, removing my seatbelt. “You should drive.”

Seven popped open the door to trade places with me. I’d tell him some other time that I didn’t actually have a driver's license.

Once we were repositioned, Seven turned on the car and shifted it into reverse. “I’m guessing you looked up directions?”

“Yup,” I said, some cheeriness returning to my voice. “I’m your navigator.”

Seven smiled, twisting around as he backed out of the parking spot. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Once we were on the road, Seven finally turned up the radio so I could hear the song he landed on. It was an upbeat rock song I thought I’d heard before. Something in English. Seven seemed to know it—he sang the lyrics softly, tapping his hands on the steering wheel.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

Seven nodded. “Pretty well. With my job, I kind of have to.”

I stared at Seven, whose gaze was focused on the road. “There’s so much I never learned about you,” I whispered.

He barely glanced over, giving the tiniest smile. “You’re going sad on me already...?”

I shook my head. “No. We can be sad later.” I pulled my backpack into my lap. “Oh, hey, I kind of brought your toothbrush and deodorant. Hope that’s not weird.... Did you need those?”

Seven gasped dramatically. “My savior. Hand them over.”

I probably stared way too intently, watching Seven shoving a stick of deodorant down the neck of his shirt, one hand fixed on the steering wheel, as he sang softly along to lyrics I didn’t understand. There were a few words, here and there, that I could pick out, but I’d forgotten most of the English I learned in high school.

It sounded nice coming from Seven, though. I had the overwhelming thought that this might be my last day with him. Or it could be the start of something else. Maybe even the first of many trips taken together.

That was hard to think about. But if it was our last day, then I was happy at least to be spending it like this. I closed my eyes when the chorus came on, humming along to the already-familiar melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the song in the chapter, but this is the song I think of whenever I think about Seven and Yoosung driving to the beach together.... It's the one I named the chapter after hahah. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMvel9ijuyM


	12. twenty questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back~
> 
> Sorry for the wait! While I was gone, I finished a 20k Yooran one shot. I'm very proud of it, and some folks seemed to really like it. I also started a collaborative MysMe fic with some very talented friends?? It's a mythical creatures AU with a poly Yoosung/Seven/Zen ship (holy shit). I'm so hyped. Go read either of those things if you're interested~
> 
> Sorry this chapter's short and all pretty much dialogue, I hope it still feels... substantial enough? I usually try to be so economical with dialogue, but you can tell I really let myself meander with this one lol.
> 
> Hoping to get the next update out sometime next week. It'll be more eventful. In the meantime, I'm just... so happy to be writing these boys again. ;_;

Seven liked to drive with the windows down. It was December now, and the overcast sky looming over us on the highway kept out any direct sunlight, any glimmer of warmth. I had my arms trapped behind my back against the passenger seat, burying my chin in my hoodie to try to keep in as much heat as possible. And there was Seven right next to me, window rolled all the way down, red hair flailing wildly in the torrent of wind he was letting inside. As he drove, he tapped his hands absentmindedly against the steering wheel to the approximate beat of whatever song was on the radio. Apparently not bothered at all. Meanwhile, my knees were starting to tremble.

“There’s an exit ramp up here,” he said, almost shouting to be heard over the wind and the radio. “Do you need to stop for anything?”

“No,” I said. “I’m f-fine.”

I thought the stutter was barely audible, but Seven picked up on it anyway. He pulled his eyes from the road to look at me. “Shit,” he said, already rolling up his window. “Are you cold?”

“Just a little. Sorry....”

Seven frowned toward the windshield, back to staring at the highway road stretching ahead of us. “You should’ve said something, Yoosung. I- I want you to be comfortable.”

I moved to run a hand through my hair, feeling a little embarrassed. “It wasn’t a big deal. You looked like you were enjoying it.”

Seven glanced over for just a second, giving me a tiny smile. “Guess so. Doesn’t mean you should suffer for my weird impulses.”

“It isn’t....” My voice trailed off. I was staring at Seven, who was focused hard on the road, his face gone calm and expressionless. He looked so... tranquil? In such huge contrast to the wild mess of tangled hair on his head. The wind had blown it into a complete mess. I clenched my fist, unclenched it. I was holding back the urge to reach over and comb his hair down with my fingers. While considering it, Seven glanced in my direction.

“Hm?”

I blinked. “What?”

“It isn’t _what_?”

“Oh!” I ducked my head, rubbing my palms against my eyes and trying to remember what I was saying. “Uhh. I don’t know.” I forced a laugh laugh. “Sorry, I just... spaced out?”

When I looked up again, Seven was back to staring at the road, but his expression had changed. There was something like concern etched on his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth.

I tilted my head, speaking softly. “Seven...?”

“Let’s play a game,” he said. Seven reached over and turned the volume on the radio down, leaving only a low murmur of sound. “A road trip game.”

“You mean like 20 Questions?”

He looked up, giving an exaggerated “deep in thought” look. “I’m thinking more like I Spy. Or, y’know... something better than that. You’ve probably played more of those games than I have.”

I leaned back in my seat, thinking hard. Looking over our surroundings, I thought of the road trips I used to take as a kid. Most were taken in warmer weather. My memories came in full color, in vivid oranges and greens and blues, not the dreary grays of the sky and the road and the dull green of the countryside in December. Even the traffic was less busy than in my childhood memories. I could see a few cars in the stretch of road ahead of us, and a few behind us, but for the most part, it was an unpopular day for traveling. Maybe that’s why no other road trip games came to mind.

“I spy with my little eye....” I paused, surveying the landscape one last time before I finished. “Something red.”

Seven’s response came immediately. “Is it that car up there?”

“Oh....” I sank into my seat. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I guess that’s the only red thing around, huh?”

He grinned, checking his rearview mirror. “I could think of a few others. But that was the most obvious one.”

“I’ll do better next time. You go next.”

“I spy with my little eye....” He took a pause that I guessed was more for dramatic effect than anything else. “Somethiiiiing... yellow!”

Yellow. What was yellow? Some street signs and painted lines on the road, but knowing Seven, it was probably a trick question. Maybe... the fields with a sepia filter? The UFO that just went by? Yoosung Kim’s innocent heart? Or something simpler, like....

I turned to Seven. “Is it my hair.”

“Shit.” He snorted.

“Really?!”

“Yoosung Kim, are you a telepath? Did you have kickass psychic powers all along without telling me?”

“No!” I rolled my eyes. “I just know your dumb sense of humor by now.”

“You call it dumb, but you’re the one who’s laughing.”

“I am not!” But it was true. Everything I said was through barely restrained giggles. _My hair_.... Seven was so weird. “We’re terrible at this game,” I said.

“I think we’re just _too good_ at it.” I watched Seven bit his lip for a moment. “Do... do you wanna keep playing?”

I shrugged. “Do you?”

He laughed dryly. “Not really.”

“That’s fine, then. Um....” I remembered my bag in the backseat. “How about food?”

“ _Please_. I wasn’t hungry until you said that, but now I’m starving.”

Leaning between our seats, I reached for my bag, unzipping it and reaching in for our sandwiches. “Do you want ham or tuna?”

“Ham, pleeease,” he said in a singsong voice.

Taking tuna for myself, I retrieved Seven’s sandwich and handed it to him, settling back into the passenger’s seat. “Do you need help unwrapping it?”

“Nah.”

I watched Seven rip open the wax paper with his teeth, pulling a bit off and proceeding to spit it on the floor with a little “pleh.” With the unwrapped sandwich in his right hand, Seven took a bite and spoke through his mouth of unchewed food.

“Could you pick that up? Can’t be getting my baby car dirty.”

“Weirdo,” I teased, but I did what Seven asked, then stuffed the used wax paper back into my bag. “So ham was okay?”

“It’s my favorite,” he said, again with his mouth full.

“Oh, good!” I smiled. “I’ll have to-”

My voice cut off. I stopped myself before I could finish that thought, and Seven didn’t ask me to complete it. Glancing out the window, I took a bite of my food. We ate our sandwiches in silence for about twenty minutes, accompanied only by the soft hum of his engine, the occasional _whoosh_ of passing cars, the near-silent radio, and the crinkle of wax paper. I kept waiting for Seven to turn up the radio, but he never did.

It was weird, how half a sentence could completely spoil a conversation.

He finished his food first, bunching up the wax paper in one hand and shoving it into his pocket. I was only halfway done when he finished, but I rewrapped the remainder of my sandwich, placing it back into my bag for later.

After another uncomfortable minute of silence, Seven mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that, Seven?”

“I’m allergic to shellfish.”

The tone of his voice was reluctant. I blinked. “What?”

“I... don’t know,” he said, forcing a little smile that looked more like a grimace. I noticed that both of his hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Just something else you never learned about me. Thought I’d.... God. I’m sorry.”

I readjusted in my seat, arms stiff at my sides. Staring hard at the painted lines on the road ahead, I struggled to come up with a response.

“Twenty Questions,” Seven said abruptly.

I turned. “Huh?”

“Or five questions. Or one.” He shrugged, and I realized Seven’s expression and the tone of his voice had grown more... desperate? He looked stressed. “It doesn’t matter. Ask anything you want, and I promise I’ll answer it truthfully.”

“That’s....” My mouth hung open. It took a moment to process what he was saying. I said dumbly, “That’s not how Twenty Questions works.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the point. I’m offering to answer _anything you want_ , Yoosung. Understand?”

“... Oh.” Where did this come from? Was he feeling that guilty about everything? It was such a complete switch. Instead of feeling excited or nervous about the prospect of getting the answers I wanted for so long, everything in me responded with a vague uneasiness. A sickness in the pit of my stomach, a tension in my limbs. “This feels weird...,” I mumbled.

“Look.” Seven leaned closer to his steering wheel, his grip appearing to tighten. “I fucked up. We both know it. And I can’t make things right, so the least I can do is finally start telling the truth.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“What? I’m saying I _want_ to.” He turned to me, a tense expression on his face. Then he looked back at the road.

I sat forward again, eyes fixing once more on the painted lines. I watched the dashes at the center of the road fly toward us then disappear from my sight, past the side of his car. They went by so rhythmically, I think I had to stop myself from getting distracted. From hypnotising myself on them.

With the opportunity I’d wanted for months right in front of me, my head was swimming. I inhaled slowly, then asked a question.

“What’s your star sign?”

“Uh.” I wasn’t looking his way, but I could imagine the baffled expression Seven would be trying to mask. “My star sign? It’s Gemini.”

“How tall are you?”

“One hundred... seventy five centimeters,” he mumbled.

I nodded. “Favorite color?”

Seven paused before answering. “Y... yellow. Yoosung, what are you doing?”

“Favorite Pokémon?”

“This isn’t what I meant.” He was leaning forward in his seat, trying to meet my gaze, shooting glances every few seconds back at the road. “I’m offering to answer anything you want.”

I shook my head weakly. “I’m not going to pry, Seven.”

“Yoosung, I’m _giving_ this to you.”

“ _I don’t want to ask it, Seven_.” I said it too loud, my voice coming out more shrill than I’d expected. Turning to look out the side window, I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shield myself from his gaze. “I don’t want to ask about your brother. Or your job. Not right now.”

Not on our road trip, I wanted to say. But it sounded so childish. Is it wrong that I just wanted things to feel simple for just a while longer? And... I wanted to wait for the beach. Things feel different, when you’re in front of the ocean. I guess I wanted to use that to my advantage.

“Okay,” Seven said softly. “Sorry. But I do mean it, Yoosung. Any question you might have, as soon as you’re ready to ask it.” He sighed. “I’m ready.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Thanks, Seven.” I could feel another uncomfortable silence on the horizon, so I pushed through to avoid it. “So what _is_ your favorite Pokémon?”

Seven smiled. “Jigglypuff,” he said. “ _Obviously_.”

“Ohh. Right.” The one he always killed me with in Smash. Biting back a grin, I realized that when I thought about it, I really did know a ton about Seven. Even if they were stupid small things, they really mattered to me.

“How about you?” he asked casually.

I shrugged. “Cyndaquil was my first starter, but I guess there are others that I like more. Ampharos is cute, and it’s really strong, too. And I guess I have a soft spot for the Dragonite that got me through my first Elite Four. But then I remember how Cyndaquil was my first favorite, and part of me... feels bad? I guess that’s dumb, but I don’t want to abandon my first favorite either.”

When I looked over, Seven was grinning.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You’re just....”

And then there was this pause, where I swore he was trying not to say “cute.” And even though he’d said it a hundred times before, and I normally hate when other guys call me cute, I really wanted to hear that. My fingers were digging into the sides of the seat, and my heart rate picked up, and I leaned closer in anticipation. I wanted him to say it then so badly. Maybe that’s pathetic. But I think my heart would’ve leapt out of my chest.

Seven smirked. “A _huge_ geek.”

“Whatever!” I rolled my eyes, trying to swallow my disappointment. “You have a higher ranking in LOLOL than me. You’re not allowed to call _me_ the geek.”

“I have the higher rank, but which one of us logs in more hours? _Hmmm_?”

“That’s not fair! You’ve been playing longer! I bet you’ve still played more than me in total hours.”

Seven laughed, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t holding back a grin. “You’re right,” he said. “Let me rephrase it then, okay?” Seven took his eyes off the road, just long enough to give me a playful smile. When he turned back, he spoke in a surprisingly soft tone. “Instead of saying you’re a huge geek, I’ll just say you’re the most dedicated person I’ve ever met, when it comes to the things you find worthy of that dedication.”

Ah. There was that heart-leaping-out-of-my-chest feeling. I opened my mouth slowly, trying to formulate an appropriate response. But in my moment of hesitation, Seven continued.

“And even though I’m in the company of LOLOL and some mid-tier Pokémon, I guess I’m just grateful that....” He shrugged almost imperceptibly. “Y’know. I’m lucky you thought... I was worthy, too.”

The feeling in my chest transformed into something so much heavier, so much more complicated. Before I knew it, I was looking at the side of Seven’s face with tears in my eyes.

My voice quivered. “Seven, you....”

He laughed, cutting me off. “Your sappiness is really rubbing off on me. The Twenty Questions thing is pretty fun, though, isn’t it?” He looked over, and if he noticed how close I was to crying, he didn’t give any indication of it. “If you want to keep playing, it’s your turn to ask me something.”

“Y-yeah,” I said, rubbing at my eyes with the sleeves of my hoodie. “Just a second.”

I took my phone out of my pocket, checking the time. It was just past 11 am, and since Seven had been strictly obeying the speed limit, we should’ve had about an hour left until our arrival at the beach.

An hour left of this... whatever it was. Denial? Escapism?

It occurred to me that I didn’t really care. Seven and I were having fun, and for the rest of the car ride, I intended to keep it that way. I closed the phone and shoved it back into my pocket.

“Favorite ice cream flavor?”


	13. unraveling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but that felt appropriate for this one.
> 
> We're gonna talk a little about Saeran here. Nothing gets explicit or graphic. Content warning for mention of the abuse that happens in canon, plus y'know, the established character death. :(

As soon as the ocean was within sight, we stopped talking. Seven drove along the road adjacent to the beach, searching for the first parking lot he could find, and I stared out the window at the expanse of ocean before my eyes. No matter how many times I’d visited, the size of the ocean always felt so overwhelming in all these different ways. It always made me a little introspective.

The first parking lot Seven found was empty, and as soon as we parked, I fully registered why. Close to the horizon, the tight clouds concealing the sky became dark, bulky, ominous. Below them, the sea looked harsh and unsteady, not the flat expanse of water I was used to seeing. White water crashed against the gray sand on the shore. It was a scary sight, and I guessed we’d be freezing cold, too, the moment we left the car.

“Looks like it’ll rain,” Seven remarked, ducking down to look at the sky through his windshield.

I took off my seatbelt. “Well,” I said, opening the car door, “it’s not raining yet.”

Down a flight of concrete stairs and past piles of driftwood high on the shore, Seven and I trudged through dry sand, lifting our feet with each step to keep the grains out of our shoes. I could hear Seven keeping his distance. His footsteps came down somewhere meters behind me, and when I stopped walking midway across the beach, his movements fell silent. The wind tossed at my hair, made goosebumps on the back of my neck, and even though it nearly drowned out Seven’s voice, he drew no closer.

“What now?” he asked, and it felt like a huge question.

I could’ve frozen completely there, head spinning with the significance of whatever came next. Instead, I took a few shaky steps forward until I stood at the edge of the tide. White, foaming water flowed inward, slowing to a stop inches from the soles of my shoes. I reached down for it, dipped my fingertips in the lingering tide until it slid back down the shore and into the swelling ocean. It was cold. Standing up fully, I drew my damp fingertips toward my chest and rubbed them together, feeling a microscopic grittiness.

Already terrified, I took a deep breath. There was a dock a little ways down the shore. “Let’s go there,” I said, pointing it out. Seven started walking toward it, and I let him catch up to me before joining at his side.

“When’s the last time you came to the ocean?” I asked.

He exhaled sharply. “Ages ago. But I lived close to it, for a while.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Not that I got much, uh, opportunity to visit, but....” His voice trailed off. I got the picture.

The dock stretched far out into the water, far enough that we could walk almost to the end and lose track of how close we were to the shore. It was all dark gray water on either side of us, stretching out to a cloudy horizon. Seven stood at my side. Under our feet, the thick slats of wood creaked with every movement or adjusted step.

The storm clouds were getting closer. I opened my mouth to speak, and for a split second, I felt this total confidence. It was this feeling like... _I’m not setting foot off of this dock until all of this is over_.

“What did you think about, the last time you came to the ocean?” I said.

“Uh....” The dock creaked as Seven shuffled his feet. “What did I think about? Are you asking what situation I was in?”

“No I mean....” I took in a shuddering breath, then released it. “I mean, when I come to the ocean, I always... think about things. It makes me get introspective, I guess? I remember coming here as a kid with my parents. The ocean was so huge. I remember looking at it and thinking something like... do adults feel as small next to the ocean as I feel next to basically everything?”

Seven said nothing, but I could feel his eyes fixed on me.

“And then there was another time when I came back as a teenager. And I remember looking out there and just thinking about how completely I’d disappear if the ocean swallowed me whole.” I laughed dryly. “I guess that’s a little morbid, huh? I mean... teenagers, so....” This was hard. I put my hands over my face, rubbed them against my eyes.

“So?” Seven said. “What are you thinking about this time?”

I lowered my hands to my sides. They were shaking pretty badly. My voice came out with some difficulty. “You know how all rivers empty out into the ocean? I’m thinking about that.” Not daring to look anywhere else, I steadied my eyes on the horizon. “I’m thinking a- about how... all the decisions I made were for a reason. They led me right here, to the beach. W- with you.”

Seven didn’t move a muscle.

“The only reason I’m even thinking that is because you’re here. That’s the only reason for any of this. B- because I could be a little bit stronger and a lot braver, because of you. I _could_ be alone. But with you I’m so much _more_.”

I didn’t register that the tears were coming until I felt them on my cheeks. Hot, then cold where the wind touched the wet trails left behind. Though I lifted a hand to wipe them away, it froze in midair as I focused on my words. How could I communicate this? “I want that for you, too, Seven. I don’t want you to be alone anymore.” I shook my head. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

Finally, I rubbed the tears away. “If you let me in... if you let _anyone_ in, you could be stronger. You could be brave enough to get past this. And I’d be strong for you, too. Wh- whatever you’re afraid of, I’d k- keep you away from....”

My voice caught in my throat for just a moment. When it released again, it came out a strangled sob. I was crying now, loudly, shakily, palms rubbing at the tears falling down my face. “I’d do anything,” I cried, sounding as desperate as I felt. “I ju... I just want to make you happy. I’d do anything t- to make you h... happy, Seven.”

Pulling my hands away, I realized that Seven wasn’t standing anymore. I turned, and he was lowering onto the dock, legs shaking enough that I could see it. And when he was finally seated, he pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, lifting up his glasses, and I realized he was crying, too.

“H-hey.” I got on my knees beside him, grabbing his coat in both hands. “Seven....” I watched him wipe his own tears away, then let the glasses settle back on the bridge of his nose. Seven cried silently. He had this wide-eyed expression to suggest he didn’t quite know where the tears were coming from. “It’ll be okay,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. “W- we can make this okay.”

“Ask-” Seven stopped, then swallowed. “Ask me,” he said.

I frowned. “Ask you...?”

“Ask me why I can’t quit.”

My grip on his jacket tightened. I took a deep breath, then asked him in the calmest voice I could manage, “Why can’t you quit hacking, Seven?”

He told the story quickly, like he was trying to just get through with it. “Mom was a drunk,” he said. “Hurt us both all the time. He had it worse. He... my brother, he was sick a lot.” He blinked hard through the tears in his eyes. “I said I’d get us out. Said I’d take care of him. St- started studying this stuff when I was 13. Got good at it pretty fast.”

Then he just stopped. Seven sat there, breathing raggedly, staring at his knees and still shaking hard. Releasing his jacket with one hand, I smoothed my palm against his back, rubbing softly. When he didn’t speak for a long time, I finally urged him. “What happened, Seven?”

“Told him I’d be two weeks. Earned enough to get an apartment, faked adult ID, just had to find a place. Thought he’d be safer at home.... Just two weeks. I was on the streets for most of it.” He rubbed his eyes again. “I said two weeks. Two weeks. It took _three_.” He looked straight at me for the first time since we were in the car, eyes wide. “Would he have been okay if it were two?”

I breathed his name, voice trembling. “Seven....”

He shrugged, looking back at his knees. “Who knows. House was a crime scene by the time I got there. I never... I never thought she’d go that far. I- I made myself skim the police report. It was....” He shook his head. “She’s never getting out.”

I put my arms around his shoulders and held him. What else could I do? I held Seven close, burying my face against his neck when he hugged me back, grip surprisingly firm. He pulled me in closer, almost into his lap.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered, squeezing hard. “I don’t.... Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“You don’t get it?” he said. “This is my punishment, Yoosung. I let him die. I don’t get to live.”

“God!” I cried out as though he’d just stabbed me. “No! It- it wasn’t your fault! You _know_ that. You were trying to do the right thing!”

“I could’ve done a million other things. I left him alone with her.”

I pulled away from him, putting my hands on his jaw so he wouldn’t look away. “Seven,” I said. “ _Seven_.” I pushed my thumbs up under his glasses, wiping tears away from his eyes. “You know this is insane. This isn’t what he would’ve wanted.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“ _I_ want this,” he said, a desperate expression on his face. “I can’t live with myself otherwise.”

I shook my head. I pressed my forehead against his, closed my eyes, and held his head in my hands. “This isn’t right, Seven,” I said. Somehow, I was keeping calm enough to say what he needed to hear. “You _know_ you need out. You _want out_. You’ve been punished enough, you don’t deserve this anymore.”

For a while, he was silent. “I don’t know what to do,” he finally said.

“You need to heal. You need to give yourself permission to... to learn to _forgive_ yourself.”

Seven pulled me in again, holding me against him in a firm embrace. I rested my head on his shoulder and held him tightly. Only his words were still reluctant. It was clear, suddenly, that Seven had been unraveling for a while. This narrative he spun in his head was barely holding together. I think he just wanted permission to break free.

He said, “I don’t deserve to be alive.”

And I said, “You deserve a second chance. This has gone on long enough.”

And he said, “All I do is hurt people. I’m a fucking tornado of a person, Yoosung.”

And I said, “I don’t care. I want to be by your side.”

I’m not sure exactly at what point it started raining. Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, a drizzle started coming down, but I think we were both in a state of denial. It wasn’t until we were sitting there and holding each other on the dock, clothes all the way drenched, that we had to acknowledge that this was no longer appropriate weather for a beach trip.

I pulled away from our embrace, just enough to rest a cheek against the side of his face, speaking gently into his ear. “Let’s go back to the car,” I said. “Please come get dry. Then we can drive back to my apartment and figure things out.”

Seven didn’t say anything. He just nodded.


	14. and after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow hi, it's been a minute.
> 
> Sorry for disappearing for so long! If you follow my Tumblr, you might've seen that I put my fics on hiatus for a few weeks. Long story short, I graduate from college on Monday, and I've been a little busy! Free time non-existent for a while. My thesis turned out cool, but now I can go back to my REAL masterpiece... lol
> 
> After graduating, I'm mostly free of obligations until July (!!!), so I'm hoping to go back to a regular update schedule right away. Let's get this damn fic done. ;u; Anyway, thanks for sticking around while I got my shit together! And sorry if my writing is pretty rusty.
> 
> Also heads up there's some sex in this chapter whoops

I held onto his arm as we ran back to the car. I was clinging tight to the fabric of his jacket, drenched with rain, and I remember the way he kept his arm extended so that I could hold on. I remember how he stopped at the foot of the staircase leading up to the parking lot, pausing while I took the first step, just to make sure I didn’t fall behind. That was the moment when I realized something had shifted.

We climbed the stairs as fast as we could without slipping, hoods pulled up to shield us from the downpour, and when we stepped onto the parking lot, Seven said, “Back seat.”

Seven opened the door for me. I ducked into the back seat, crawling to the other end as he followed behind me, slamming the door shut. As I pulled my soaked hoodie off over my head, Seven reached into the front seat, fumbling for a moment with his car keys before managing to turn the key backwards, starting the radio and the heater. He shut off the radio, leaving us trapped with the heavy sound of rain striking the windows and roof of the car, then toppled backwards into his seat. For a moment, he looked stunned.

“Shouldn’t get the front seats wet,” he mumbled. As far as I could tell, Seven was no longer crying, but his eyes were completely bloodshot.

“Hey,” I said, “are you going to be okay?”

I watched him blink hard, like he was trying to push away an image from behind his eyelids. When he looked up at me, his expression was tired. Droplets of water fell from the strands of his hair, some of them catching on his glasses. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

So I told him. “It’s going to be okay, Seven. I promise that.”

He looked away again, shoulders slumped defeatedly.

“... Let’s get this jacket off, all right?” Sliding to his side, I pushed his jacket from his shoulders. Seven didn’t move as I pulled it down his arms, as it fell in a pile behind him on the seat, so I lifted his hands out of each arm hole and tossed it onto the floor. “Your shirt’s damp, too,” I observed out loud. “And your pants are soaked. Do you want the change of clothes I brought you?”

Seven didn’t say anything, and I was at a loss for what to do. I didn’t want to rush him, of course. He deserved the chance to process everything. But I wanted to help so badly, and it hurt to just sit there and wait for him, doing nothing. Could I touch him? Could I give him a hug? Or would that just make him feel worse? While thinking about it, I also grew more aware of the unpleasant feeling of my wet jeans clinging to my legs. I wondered if it would be appropriate to steal his pair of pants, if he wound up refusing it.

After a few minutes of sitting by his side, silently fidgeting with my hands, Seven finally spoke up, sounding surprisingly clear-headed. “Yoosung?”

“Yeah?” My voice almost cracked.

“I’m about to tell you a lot of things that I shouldn’t. In a couple hours from now, when I regain my sanity, please hold them all against me.”

“Huh?” I tilted my head. “What does that-”

“My birthname was Saeyoung Choi,” he said. “Saeyoung Choi. Most records of that person have been wiped out, but some things still exist if you dig around. My twin brother was Saeran Choi, and we were born in Hanam on June 11th, 1995. That’s Ju.... Here, just hand me your phone.”

Too stunned to speak, I dug my phone out of my pocket. Seven swiped it from my hand, unlocked the screen, and opened up a memo.

“June... eleventh....” He spoke to me as he typed frantically on the phone. “These... are the names... and the email addresses... of my last three major clients....  Here are a list of cities I’ve lived in....” He paused for a long time after this one, busy typing, and I stared wide-eyed as the memo grew longer and longer.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Here’s my current identification number... and my last one... and the one I had at birth. I think....” He stopped typing, staring hard at the screen of my phone. “I think that’s enough? It should be....” Seven turned off the display, then put the phone on my palm, cupping his hands around mine. “Yoosung,” he said, staring me in the eye. “When you get home, I need you to write all of this information down somewhere, physically. Hide it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one but you will be able to find it. And then I need you to delete this memo and factory reset your phone.”

Before saying anything, I slipped the phone into my back pocket. “I don’t understand.”

Seven wouldn’t look me in the eye. “If... if I left again....” He swallowed. “If I left, there’s a chance you could use this information to track me down. More likely, you’d screw up in the process and get my cover completely blown.”

I frowned. “Is that supposed to insult me?”

“No, Yoosung. I’m giving you _leverage_.”

The rain came down hard on the roof of the car. “Leverage,” I said. “So you’re making reasons that you’d be safer staying? Reasons not to leave again? Seven, are you...?”

Seven turned his face away. “... Yeah.”

“You’re going to stay? You’re going to find a new job?”

He didn’t say anything, so I shook him by the arm.

“Seven,” I said. “Say it out loud. Say that’s what you’re doing.” I had this feeling.... I knew that he needed to say it. Like, as long as he didn’t say it out loud, it could never happen.

So Seven turned to me slowly, then looked me in the eye through his rain-splattered, slightly fogged up glasses. He looked weaker and more exhausted than I’d ever seen him, which is saying a lot for Seven. He opened his mouth, and when his voice came out, it was strained.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” he said. “I can’t say that I deserve... anything good. A normal job, or a stable life, or....” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it, but I want it, Yoosung. It’s so damn twisted.”

“It’s not twisted,” I said, putting a hand on his arm and hoping it comforted him. “You’re doing the right thing.”

His eyes lowered. “I can’t believe that,” he said softly. “Not yet, at least. But if you side at all with this... sick, twisted part of me, please stand by that. Help me be selfish.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him he was thinking about it all wrong. But instead I nodded. “Okay.” I wrapped my fingers around the fabric of his jacket. “I really don’t think you’re being selfish, Seven, but you _deserve_ to be. You’ve been suffering for long enough.”

“I....” Seven ducked his head. “... Thank you, Yoosung.”

I rubbed Seven’s arm gently. He seemed calm on the outside. Or at least exhausted. But I knew that inside, he must’ve been really struggling. It was clear that I wasn’t the only one who’d been strongly considering the possibility of him staying. I was sure he wasn’t making this decision abruptly, no matter how shaken he was. It must’ve been eating away at him for days, possibly weeks. When I tried to look back, to pinpoint the point when things probably changed, I realized that everything before my visit home felt like weeks ago.

But in any case, he’d been thinking about it. I just hoped that meant the decision would stick.

“Yoosung?” He finally spoke up after a long silence, staring at his hands.

“... Yeah, Seven?”

I watched him nibble at the corner of his lip. “Will you stay close to me?” It was a weak and hollow-sounding plea.

I nodded. “Of course, Seven. I’ll be here for whatever you need, okay?”

Sighing softly, Seven shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say to that.” He looked at me. “You know, you’ve been so giving when I’ve been nothing but horrible to you. I totally don’t deserve it, but I want to start making up for that. I want....” He hesitated, then shrugged. “I just want you to have what you want, for once.”

I felt a lump in my throat. What I want? That was a complicated thing to consider. “Just keep being my best friend, Seven,” I said, averting his gaze. For the moment, that was all. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

I could feel him staring at me for a long time, but finally he agreed. “Okay. And... I’ll do better at it this time.”

Still avoiding eye contact, I glanced over his wet body. “So do you want your change of clothes?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I scooted away as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor along with his jacket. “I have a blanket under the seat,” Seven said as he unbuttoned and removed his pants, leaving on his boxers. “In case you’d prefer that over _your_ wet clothes.”

“Where is it?” I reached beneath my seat.

“Other side. It’s.... There you go.”

After feeling around some items I hadn’t noticed before (some water bottles, a backpack, other things I couldn’t identify by touch), I found the blanket he’d mentioned stashed below the middle back seat. It was thick and made of wool, and folded into two layers, it could’ve probably kept you warm on a winter night. I pulled the blanket onto the seat beside me, hesitated for a moment, then started undressing. It was nothing Seven hadn’t seen before, I figured.

Beside me he was fumbling through his backpack. I watched him through my peripheral vision as I took off my shirt, my jeans, brought the wool blanket around my shoulders, wrapping myself up in it. He dug for slightly too long through the bag before taking out his change of clothes and piling it onto the seat behind him. I thought I saw him glance my way before taking hold of his shirt and unfolding it in his lap.

I made a series of split-second judgements. Then I spoke up.

“Are you cold?”

I watched his eyes move toward the heater vent in the front of the car. The space had warmed up a bit, but my skin was covered in goosebumps, and I’m sure his was, too. “Yeah,” Seven said.

“D... do you want to...?” I parted the blanket a bit, in an encouraging sort of way.

Seven swallowed audibly. His eyes shifted around, landing on different things throughout the car—me, the floor, the heater, the blanket, the floor again. I watched him shrug, then speak softly. “If you... want to....”

“I do.” I hugged the blanket around my body, moving no closer.

Seven froze. He held completely still, except for his right fingers tapping an off-beat rhythm against his knee. Neither of us said anything, just listened to the rain pounding against the roof of the car.

“I do.” I said it again. “I want to be close to you.”

Quickly, he nodded. “Okay.”

And so I moved closer to Seven. Carefully, I unwrapped the blanket from my chest, pushing one side of it behind his back and throwing the other over his furthest shoulder. With a few adjustments, we sat side-by-side, me facing him in the middle seat, the blanket enclosing our bodies. But the space between us let cold air in, raising goosebumps on my chest and arms. I tried to pull my legs against my chest, but it barely helped.

“Still cold,” Seven said.

I leaned in closer. “Should I...?”

He nodded wordlessly, this time moving until his hands were at my waist. His touch almost made me gasp. Keeping a tight grip on the blanket, I moved closer, moving my knee over his legs and repositioning myself until I was seated in his lap.

His hands stayed at my waist, and mine stayed grasping the blanket, holding it at his shoulders. We were covered now, and I could feel our body heat warming the cavernous pocket created in the space between our torsos. Seven didn’t say anything, just made this vague expression... furrowed eyebrows and biting the corner of his lip. He was conflicted. Nervous. But I thought that he liked it.

I hoped that wasn’t just wishful thinking.

“Hey.” I leaned forward a bit and was pleased to see him match the movement, coming in toward me. Hesitantly, I smiled. “Do you remember when we made that blanket fort together?”

Seven’s lips curled up slightly. “How could I forget?”

“What if....” I pulled the blanket up from behind my back and over our heads. It was long enough to cover us both, shrouding us entirely in darkness and in warmth.

His grip on my waist tightened, just a little bit. “Well, what do you know.”

I huffed a small laugh. “It was easier to build this time.”

“Way easier.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear the smile in his voice, and it was like this wave of relief. No matter how scared he was, at least I could make him smile. My hands were rested on his shoulders, but I drew them toward me, settling them on his collarbone. I was overwhelmed with this urge to move them down a bit further, to feel his heartbeat. Slowly, I slipped them downward.

Seven’s heart was pounding.

“I missed you,” he whispered suddenly.

Sighing softly, I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I missed you, too, Seven. Or S- Saeyoung?” The name sounded odd and foreign on my lips. Looking him in the eye, I doubt I would’ve had the confidence to say it. But in a blanket fort, dark and ambiguous, you’re separate from those judgements. The name came without embarrassment. “Is that...? Would you want me to call you that?”

“I....” The hands on my waist slipped down to my hips, then rested there. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Well, let me know if you decide you want that.”

“Yeah....” He spoke softly.

There was silence once again. Seven, Saeyoung, Seven sat in front of me, his scent and his breath intermingling with mine, trapped under this suffocating woolen shield I’d hoisted over our bodies. The air was growing stuffier, thicker, but for that moment we wouldn’t move.

I thought about the identity of this person in front of me. This Saeyoung, Seven, Saeyoung. This man who I knew so well and not at all. I thought, of all things, about our only... sexual encounter? The way he sat behind me, spoke to me only when I asked, let his hands alone do the work of pleasing me. And I thought of how, at the time, this hadn’t bothered me, even though in retrospect it was clear that I was receiving his body and nothing else.

His body. Seven’s—Saeyoung’s—warm, squishy thighs, the tiniest bit fuzzy. His heavy scent hanging in the air. Even the rhythm of his breath... it was all identifiable. Maybe it should’ve been depressing, but I was relieved that no matter how elusive this person was, I knew his body like something I’d studied up close. I was practically an expert. At least there could be no forgery of that.

And just when I was wondering whether I’d ever really know this person, whether his body was all I’d ever see clearly, he spoke again. His voice was louder this time. “Yes,” it said. “Actually, yeah. Saeyoung. Call me that.”

 

* * *

 

I don’t know how we got there afterwards. It felt natural, in the moment, although I’m sure it must’ve been an odd transition, right? Twenty minutes ago we’d been talking about his childhood traumas in the pouring rain. But then we were sharing a blanket, naked and having sex in the back of his car, and nothing on earth could have stopped us.

We stayed seated the way we were, him sitting up in the back seat, me straddling his lap. At some point, the blanket slid down from over our heads, but neither of us seemed to care. The windows were blurred by streaks of falling rain. They let in only bright gray light, and I’m sure they let out even less. Seven still had his hands on my hips. At some point, in some motion I can’t remember, I eased in until our chests were touching, our groins brushing together through thin fabric. I remember he said, “Is this okay?” although I was the one who’d made the first move. Instead of answering, I kissed him.

It was a kiss like we’d always had before—sloppy, desperate, needy. The familiarity was disorienting and comforting at the same time. I bit down onto his bottom lip, in the way that always got the reaction I wanted. Our jaws dropping open as he dug the tips of his fingers into my skin, his tongue swirled around mine, a drop of saliva dripping down our chins as I took in his familiar taste. One of these days, I thought fleetingly to myself, we’d need to learn how to kiss each other properly. He pulled away, then placed his mouth at the crook of my neck. I whimpered, curling my fingers into the back of his hair.

“Is this okay?” He said it again, hooking his thumbs around the waistband of my boxers. I nodded eagerly in response. Lifting my hips and letting him ease the garment down my thighs, I leaned my chest more firmly against his, inviting him to continue as he nibbled around my collarbone. With some effort, the boxers were off and discarded on the seat beside us.

I pulled further away from him, resting toward his knees. In part, I wanted a moment to catch my breath. But mostly I was trying to get my grip on his boxers, inviting him to let me remove them. Before I could ask, his hips lifted. The look in his eyes, relaxed and intense at the same time, said everything. I pulled his boxers toward his knees, and Seven kicked them the rest off the way.

When I settled back down, he grabbed me with an eagerness I didn’t expect. Seven pulled me back toward him, gently but firmly, his open hands rested on my lower back. Fully unclothed, I could feel his cock brush against mine, could tell that he was still only half-hard. Before getting frustrated, I reminded myself that he’d been crying only minutes ago. There was plenty of time to get there.

Plenty of time.

He looked up at me, his half-lidded eyes lifting into some look of clarity. “Is this really okay?” he asked again.

I frowned. “You keep asking that.... Do you want to stop?”

Seven opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it. I waited a few seconds for him to formulate a response. “I’ve wanted this,” he said, “and I still... uh, want it. I just didn’t know if it was too fast, or if you....”

I shook my head. “Keep going. If you want it, Se... ahh, Saeyoung. Sorry.” I smiled, just a little embarrassed. “If you want it, then take it. I want this, too. Really.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Saeyoung (Saeyoung, Saeyoung, Saeyoung) slowly traced his fingers up the length of my thighs as he kissed me. It wasn’t teasing like last time, didn’t feel sadistic or coy or playful. It was gentle, like as his fingertips brushed across my skin leaving goosebumps in their wake, he was just trying to extend this moment as long as he could. Our mouths moved together in a slow and perfect rhythm, and when I felt his hands reach my hipbones, a full-body shiver coursed through me. He pulled away.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, glancing up and down my body with an almost pained expression. I felt my stomach flip. No one had called me that before. I expected it least of all from him.

Is it weird that I liked it? I really did.

Saeyoung didn’t start kissing me again. He just kept looking at me, face lowered but eyes gazing upward, directly into mine. I watched him through his glasses as he wrapped a hand around my cock, watched his eyebrows raise as though asking non-verbally for my response. Involuntarily, a heavy sigh was pulled from my lips. My hands, still rested on either of his shoulders, balled into fists. As he started moving his hand, jerking me off, my spine straightened and I whimpered an earnest approval. Through half-lidded eyes, I watched a smirk form on his lips.

“Is this okay?” It wasn’t a sincere question this time—he was teasing me. I felt a bit relieved to know that even honest, serious Saeyoung was a bit of a sadist. Instead of answering, I hummed wantonly.

“Fuck, Yoosung.” My eyes were clenched shut. I was focused on the steady motion of his hand on my cock, the warmth starting to build in my stomach, but I listened closely to his breathless praise. “You’re so perfect. You’re so good. Can’t believe I....”

His voice trailed off, and through the haze of bliss lowering over my thoughts, I managed to formulate an answer. “Be... lieve what?”

For a moment, he stopped. Resting a hand on my lower back, Saeyoung pulled me in closer, pulled my hardened cock against his.

“Can’t believe I get to have you,” he said. For a possessive statement, it sounded so meek. It made my chest throb with a mixture of emotions I couldn’t possibly explain. I rested my head against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his neck. As he put his hand around both of our cocks, stroking them together, I tried to reassure him.

“I’m yours,” I said, at first a whisper. It was difficult to focus with our lengths pressed together, his hand moving up and down them, drawing us simultaneously closer to orgasm. “I’m yours. We’re going to stay together. Okay?”

“Yoosung....” Though I couldn’t see, I could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth.

“Saeyoung,” I answered softly. “Saeyoung. Saeyou... _hahh!_ ”

It was clear he wasn’t going to last long, and neither would I. As soon as I started saying his name, Saeyoung’s strokes became more erratic, his breathing turned shaky, punctuated by soft groans. My hips were writhing in time with his movements. I wasn’t searching for friction, wasn’t trying to deepen his strokes so much as shamelessly seek the movement itself. It felt so good, I realized, bucking against him almost instinctively.

My orgasm close, I pulled myself against him, breathing in his scent, trying to memorize everything about this moment. It took only seconds. A sharp heat uncoiled in me fast, like the crack of a whip. I released in his hands with a final shuddering moan of his name. He came soon after, groaning weakly.

And that was it.

Soon, we’d pull ourselves apart from one another, sticky with sweat and with other fluids. He’d make a half-hearted joke about the mess we made, and I’d laugh, and then he’d kiss me sweetly before reaching under the seat. He’d find a handkerchief to wipe us off, and after just a moment of awkward silence, he’d suggest that we lie down for a while.

That all happened next, but not right away. Before that, we just sat there. For a long time. In the aftermath of everything, we clung to each other, letting the afterglow hit us fully, neither wanting to separate. For a moment, we savored our final moment of peace before going back to reality.

 

* * *

 

We were lied out in the back seat. He had his arms wrapped around my waist, and my back was pressed against his chest. Saeyoung had the blanket pulled over us, and as our breathing slowed, the ceaseless patter of rain against the roof of his car nearly put me to sleep.

Saeyoung’s mouth was pressed into my hair, so when he spoke, I could feel a slight tickle at the back of my head. “Yoosung?” He said it so sheepishly. Immediately, I felt panic.

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something. Please don’t freak out. It’s.... I’ve been thinking a lot, and I really think this is the safest way.”

I swallowed heavy. When I opened my mouth to urge him on, nothing came out. He sounded serious. Really worried. I’d just gotten my hands on Saeyoung, just gotten him to start opening up, to admit that he wanted to be with me. Was that about to end already?

“... Yoosung?”

I forced my response. “What is it?”

“I do need to go,” he said weakly. “To... reset. I need to.”

“ _Wh_....” I tried to cry out in response, but my voice caught in my throat, which gave him room to interrupt me.

“Like I said, don’t freak out! I’m- I’m not abandoning you, Yoosung. That’s not what’s happening.”

“Then what?” I shifted around, rolling onto my back to look him in the eye. The seat was small, and I hung off of it halfway, so he put an arm around waist to keep me in place. “If you reset, you.... I know you change your name and identity, but you also have to _move_ , right?”

“I....” Saeyoung withdrew his hand, and instinctively I clung to his sides, to keep from falling off the seat. After pushing up his glasses to rub at his eyes, Saeyoung returned his arm around my waist, keeping me pulled tight against him. When he spoke again, his voice came out soft. His eyes, narrowly averting my gaze, looked sad and earnest. “I think so. I haven’t sorted everything out yet.”

I wanted to fight about it, but scanning his face for answers, I held back. The hurt in his eyes felt so deep. Rather than arguing, I realized that Saeyoung needed something else. For once, he needed my trust. And for once, I was completely ready to give it to him.

I stayed silent until he decided what to say.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He spoke softly, as though trying to make his words reach just as far as my ears and no further. “I haven’t figured out the logistics. It’s.... When I reset, it’s not just to get a new identity. I change my appearance. I go somewhere far away, and I pray that no one ever _recognizes_ me, ever makes the connection. So staying would be....”

I frowned. “And you _have_ to reset? You can’t keep going with your current identity?”

The concern in his gaze pierced right through me. “I’m not planning to get into trouble again, but I have a _record_ now Yoosung. I....” His eyes widened. His voice finally broke. “Fuck. I went to _jail_.”

I watched a tear slide out of his eyes, and a wave of sickness came over me. Oh. Right.

“Fuck,” he said again. He was wiping under his glasses again, trying to erase the tears before I could see them. “I just, I thought for sure that.... I thought I was _finished_. I thought I’d never get another chance again.”

“Saeyoung....” Rolling onto my side, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. I buried my face in his neck, trying to hold him close, and his arms instantly wound around my waist. Lying there, I finally started to understand his thinking. He must’ve been so scared, and disoriented, and....

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m here to help you. And whatever you need from me, I’ll give it to you. Okay?”

Saeyoung’s hands balled into fists and my waist. He sniffled, unable to hold back his tears, but obviously trying his best. Waiting for a response, I drew a hand up to his hair, slowly ran my fingers through the soft, slightly damp curls, hoping I could only give him comfort, security, reassurance. I wanted to give him everything.

His breath was warm and soft against my ear as he spoke. “Yoosung, I love you so much.”

My hand in his hair drew involuntarily into a loose fist, as I felt my chest tighten. I was blinking away tears. I could still feel his slow breath against my ear. Trying hard to filter out the sound of the rain, to filter out the heavy beating of my own heart, I focused on the sound of that breathing alone. After those words, it was the best thing I’d ever heard.

Finally, I nodded. “I love you too,” I said. “So we’re going to make this work.”


End file.
